


Harbinger

by oblivoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Dylan O’Brien - Freeform, Multi, Tyler Posey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivoid/pseuds/oblivoid
Summary: ❝What are you now?❞❝Better.❞Foxes were cunning when they were bored. In most stories, they were the harmless creatures, ones that only wanted fun. They were the sidekick of the deadly, the brains of the brawn.Not in Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills had a variety of creature, from foxes to wolves, to jaguars and coyotes. Everyone is welcome on the chessboard, but only one truly knows how to play and win.The manipulators, the intelligent. This fox succumbed for a while, but this time, the fox would manipulate even the darkness to trust them.“A GAME WITHOUT RULES,A CAGE WITHOUT LIGHT.A CHESSBOARD FULL OF PLAYERS,ONLY THE CUNNING WILL SURVIVE.”[season 4]© @oblivoid (hae)





	1. Chapter 1

_Stiles stared at the depths of his mind, now no longer the clean sheen of white, but stained and splattered with spots of gray and black, like paint strewn across a white canvas. He surveyed the room, panic rising in his stomach, a sort of jumpy feeling overtaking him._

 

_"Turn around, Stiles."_

 

_And he did. Stiles turned his head, his breath harsh and loud in the quiet room. He could've swore he heard his own heartbeat, a steady thumping against his chest. The panic that took place in his stomach was replaced by a sense of dread, the weight of it threatening to wash Stiles away. His eyes met the spot where the voice's body was supposed to be._

 

_Bandages wrapped around the nogitsune's head, trailing down to his body, hands, feet, leaving only the bloody mouth of it exposed, the sharp silver canines gleaming unnaturally in the light. Behind the monstrous figure was a whole part of black, as if it were oblivion itself, only disrupted by the occasional spots of gray. Stiles looked behind him again to see the white wall behind him, the gray slowly creeping into the center, the black following._

 

_"How...how did you get out?" His voice was a broken rasp, terror overwhelming him. Stiles knew he looked like a deer in headlights._

 

_"I was never in it in the first place," The nogitsune chuckled, the sound reverberating across his mind. Stiles winced. "How do you think the firefly got trapped? I am not that idiotic, Stiles. Remember my promise? I don't go back on my promises. We will kill all of them, Stiles. One. By. One.”_

 

_Stiles peered behind the nogitsune again, trying to give himself hope that he wouldn't have to be possessed by the creature again. It seemed to be rambling, a hopeless attempt at distracting Stiles enough, at riling and shaking him enough to gain control of him. The void kitsune fed off darkness, chaos, strife and pain. So what if Stiles trapped him in a cage of light in his very own mind?_

 

_What if he was the one in control then? Sure, the plan wasn't very stable, but his mind, his body, and the safety of his friends were at stake. He couldn't allow the trickster spirit to be let loose again._

 

_The nogitsune spoke again. "Let me in, Stiles. I will not ask again." Stiles watched the creature trudged forward, blood now dripping down the front of his shirt. A sort of mechanical twitching took over the nogitsune's body too as it moved, and even as he told himself to not be afraid, a sort of dread crept into his heart. Or as much of a heart he could have had in his own mind._

 

_Stiles glared at it, and maybe it was foolish of him, but as he gathered the energy he needed to create light in the very absence of it in his mind, the memories of Lydia surfaced, the memories of Malia, and he said, "No."_

 

_A devilish shout tore from the nogitsune as Stiles shoved those memories, the light, full of joy, of peace, and none of the chaos, strife and pain at it, willing his mind to form a box like wolfsbane, like ash that was made to trap the werewolves, but light to trap the void, allowing only the nogitsune's abilities to filter through as it was trapped fully._

 

_"You will regret this, you will!" The nogitsune screeched, the last echoes still ringing in his ears as he hauled himself out of his dream._

 

 

 

As Stiles and Lydia walked into a town in Mexico, a frustrated sigh escaping from Lydia's lips as they surveyed the town, Stiles seeing people exchanged fruits, bits of conversation floating into his ears as he said, rubbing his hands together, "This isn't so bad."

 

Lydia looked around again, her tone flat as she replied, "It's not the town, it's the plan."

 

"What's wrong with the plan?"

 

"Stiles. This could be the stupidest plan we've ever come up with. You're aware of that, right?" Lydia said, and Stiles found his eyes on her for a moment.

 

"I'm aware it's not our best."

 

"We're all going to die."

 

Stiles glanced over at Lydia, the now strong, intelligent girl staring back at him like he was an idiot. "Are you saying that as a banshee, or are you just being pessimistic?"

 

She rolled her eyes at him, and they started walking again as she said, "I'm saying it as a person who doesn't want to die."

 

"Let's restrict any talks of death to actual banshee predictions."

 

"This plan is stupid and we're all going to die."

 

Stiles turned to face her, a sort of feeling rising in him as he said, "Oh thank you!"

 

Lydia merely replied with a small humming sound, the playfulness in her tone pulling a smile onto Stiles' lips as they continued on their search to find the Calaveras'...place.

 

It had been almost a month since he overtook the nogitsune. The day afterwards, when he woke up to his dream, he was surprisingly not screaming, or doing anything. He just...woke up.

 

Then he went to the bathroom, hoping it was all a dream, a nightmare about the incidents that occured that made him get the blood all over his hands, before he looked up at the mirror, and his eyes were a glowing silver.

 

Unlike anything he'd ever seen. Stiles remembered the practice he'd told Scott to do when he just got bitten, to calm down and calm his heartbeat as he counted his fingers softly, until his eyes faded back into their normal honey-like brown.

 

Then he experimented. Day by day, Stiles listened with his ears to see how much he could hear. The soft breathing of his dad at night, the heartbeat of Scott when they were together trying to figure out things, the whispers of the pack when they were trying to talk in private.

 

But there were a few problems, those mainly being that the nogitsune was strengthened by chaos, strife and pain.

 

There were none of that in those first few weeks. And Stiles was happy. Because it meant that his cage could be strengthened even more, even if the nogitsune's; his powers were weakened severely by the lack of it.

 

Then news had came in that Derek was missing. Conflicts arose in the pack, sometimes one of them got hurt trying to ask for information, and Stiles could have felt his abilities heightening once again. He could hear more, his reflexes were sharp, his speed was faster than that of any of them, and his strength rivaled that of Scott's.

 

Not that he told any of them. Stiles had known that they had enough to worry about, especially with Derek missing and a odd feeling of separation in the pack. But the first time one of them fought in Scott's house even as a sarcastic one, a sort of soft fire filled Stiles' head ever so slightly.

 

White had overtaken his vision, and some pain had racked his mind. Stiles had known  that he had to leave immediately. He had braced a hand on the tab, and had sucked in his breath as he had looked at them through his foggy vision, knowing what would come after.

 

The glowing eyes.

 

Stiles told them he needed the bathroom, and as he stumbled half-blind to it, and shut the door, leaning against it. He could hear Scott at the other side of the door, smell the bits of soap and shampoo on the wall.

 

Scott's voice had been muffled as he said, "Stiles? You alright?"

 

At least it had been to Stiles' ears. He had leaned against the sink, staring at the mirror, dragging up the energy to lift his hand, he had counted it in his head, knowing that if he did it in real life, Scott would've heard it.

 

His silver eyes had glowed brighter and brighter, sweat beading on his forehead as he counted with his one hand. Stiles had felt his other hand about to punch through the sink, and he withdrew it, the panic rising in him hard to suppress.

 

Stiles had barely registered Scott telling the others to stay back as he had broken the door hinge and walked in, and Stiles panicked, before splashing water over his face to calm himself down, shutting his eyes.

 

He heard the own thumping of his heartbeat, and Scott's, whose was calm yet thumped with a sort of concern. He had prayed that when he opened his eyes it would go back to normal again.

 

And it had.

 

As Stiles opened his eyes slowly, dreading what he'd have to tell Scott, his eyes had returned yet again to its normal brown. He had met Scott's worried eyes, and his best friend gave him a pat on his shoulder as Scott said, "Panic attack?"

 

"Y-yeah."

 

 

 

It was dark. Stiles noticed the town visibly quietened, and as they found the building, he saw two men standing guard outside, arms crossed and mouth pulled apart in a condescending smirk.

 

He wanted to punch them.

 

But Stiles looked through his pockets for the card, and showed it to them. They seemed to restrain their desire to scoff as they stared at him. Then Stiles spotted the camera, and shown it to that. It opened the doors and let him and Lydia in.

 

Loud noises filtered into Stiles' ears, and he would've winced if he hadn't learnt how to control himself after what he'd taught Scott, and trial and error. The lights flickered and changed colours, just like in a party, and they, or at least he, self-consciously found seats at the bar. Over the heavy electronic music, Stiles heard a distant walkie-talkie static, and a man mumbling Mexican into it. He resisted the urge to look up.

 

A man slammed two drinks down. Stiles looked at him, not believing how dumb they all were.

 

Suddenly, two hands gripped him from behind, and Stiles tensed.

 

Throw him over your shoulder.

 

He muttered at the nogitsune to shut up.

 

"On the house."

 

"We're underage," Lydia replied to the man, whose Mexican accent was strong. Stiles faintly heard the man's heartbeat, a slow, calm beat.

 

"Americans don't travel across the border to refuse to drink."

 

Or maybe Araya Calavera just didn't tell them. Either way, Lydia dropped a bullet with the same symbol on the card into her drink, and as the man raised his eyebrows in surprise, Lydia said, "We didn't come here to drink."

 

They were led into a room, where a brunette lady, her face granite-hewn from hunting, gave them a smile that dripped of poison.

 

"Severo hates this music. But me? I've always loved the music of youth," She said, her accent also as heavy. She seemed to be sharpening something with a piece of cloth, and Stiles swallowed as she met their gaze, and the cruel smile grew as she looked at Stiles, as if she knew who he was.

 

"This kind especially, it has a savage energy."

 

Lydia looked at her, and Stiles gripped onto the insides of his pockets as they sat. "We're here for Derek Hale."

 

"Is that so?"

 

"We know you have him."

 

And they did. Pretty sure, actually. Along with Peter. Unless some person came to take them, and somehow got past the Calaveras, Derek was still here. At least, Stiles hoped he was. He didn't spend all that oil and time fixing his Jeep for nothing, did he?

 

"We've heard," Lydia continued, "that you can be bought."

 

And that was Stiles’ cue to lay down the stacks and stacks of money that could've been used for a better person then Derek, the guy with literally no soul.

 

"That's fifty thousand in American."

 

Araya leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a sort of sharp knowledge. "Now, where does a teenage boy get so much money?" She smirked. "Japanese mafia?"

 

And the cocking of guns was enough to get Stiles rattled as the guards pointed it at them. Araya braced her arms on the table, and said, "Not smart to come alone."

 

And Stiles gave her a smirk of his own, letting a bit of the cunning fox show as he tilted his head slightly, saying, "What makes you think we came alone?"

 

 

 

Scott surveyed the dancing floor as he stood at a corner, silent and watching. He saw Malia, her body moving in the fluid motions of a werecoyote, likely trained to be lithe and solid at the same time. As she turned and met his gaze, her eyes glowed blue, and she gave him a small smile.

 

Then he found Kira, the Asian sitting in the booth, her head turned to the side, eyes slightly shut. But then she turned to look at Scott, and her eyes glowed a fiery amber. She smiled at him too, and there was a sort of adoration in her eyes.

 

He could hear the conversations from the room Stiles and Lydia were in even with the blaring music from the speakers.

 

"You brought a wolf into my home?"

 

"We brought an Alpha."

 

And then Scott looked up, and allowed his eyes to glow the blood red of an Alpha's.

 

 

 

Malia was dancing when Kira came to her, the girl flustered as she said, "Something's happening."

 

"I know."

 

"What do we do?"

 

"Blend in!" Malia continued dancing, her voice and Kira's most likely masked in the heavy music as the girl looked around skeptically.

 

"Dance with me, dumbass!" She laughed at how awkward the kitsune was, and as Kira's mouth opened to an 'o', the girl started doing this series of weird popping movements.

 

Malia almost snorted at how bad the girl was at dancing, but instead opted for biting her fingernails.

 

And then Kira gave her a look of confusion, as if she couldn't figure out why Malia looked so awkward.

 

God, Kira was so clueless.

 

Malia grabbed her by the waist, and pulled Kira closer to her. She was surprised at first, and Malia almost cursed herself for how brash she was, before Kira's face lit up and they started really dancing.

 

People crowded around them, the intoxicated giddyness of their chemosignals cloying Malia's nose, and as they spotted the guards, she and Kira exchanged looks.

 

Malia charged at one of them, and easily flipped them over and slammed the guard to the ground, feeling triumphant. She turned around to see Kira wielding a pair of glowstick nunchucks, and her mouth was agape as the girl slammed it into the guard who was flailing her hands around.

 

She heard a gun cock behind her.

 

And then a crash into the wall as Scott slammed another guard into a pillar. They looked at each other, and nodded.

 

They walked down a hallway, Scott no doubt tracking their scent just like she was. They walked down a dark hallway, the lights flickering ever so faintly.

 

Suddenly, something sounded and a foggy gas began spilling out. Malia wanted to go and check it out, but Scott pulled her back, his eyes wary as he walked forward and sniffed at the gas.

 

"It's wolfsbane!" He managed to shout, before more of the gas started to rise from all directions, and the wolfsbane choked off her lungs, made her muscles feel weak, her eyelids heavy, and as she toppled to the ground, darkness claiming her and the others, she saw Scott try to fight one last time, before their eyes all closed, choking on the wolfsbane.

 

She barely saw Kira being knocked out by a shadow-like figure, most likely a guard, as she herself wavered in her consciousness.

 

 

Stiles woke up in a room with Scott, Kira, Malia and...no Lydia. Panic razed his senses as he shot up, and the rest of them held out a hand to steady him. But he already healed.

 

"Where's Lydia?"

 

"They took her," Scott said, sorrow in his eyes.  Stiles walked up to the door and pounded on it, not using his strength, afraid to dent it.

 

"We tried. It's useless," Malia huffed, and she sank down leaning against a wall. Kira followed, and Stiles sighed. He knew it was useless, but surely he would be able to punch through it with his nogitsune strength?

 

Too late. The doors slid open and two men walked in, long rods in their hands that Stiles registered as electric rods. Scott looked up at them and breathed, "You don't know where Derek is either."

 

They electrocuted him and knocked Kira out, the girl slumping over after one of the guards slammed the back of the rod into her.

 

Then they looked at Stiles. It made him jumpy, nervous. As if he knew nothing compared to the Calaveras.

 

One of them spoke again. "Either you come with us, Stiles, or we electrocute her and make you come."

 

As if to emphasise their point, they pointed the cracking rods at Malia, who curled up in the corner and growled at them, as if it would scare them off.

 

Stiles didn't want anyone else getting hurt. He stood up and brushed himself off, stepping over Scott and Kira's unconscious bodies, before saying, "I'll come."

 

Malia's eyes widened in shock and she shouted, "Stiles, no!"

 

He didn't want anyone getting hurt.

 

He followed them.

 

 

 

Lydia sat across the table from Araya, who was looking out at the view with a deadly gaze. She turned back to Lydia, and smiled.

 

Lydia felt exasperated at how the plan sucked and didn't work, just like I told Stiles, she thought and asked, What do you want?"

 

"I want you to tell me about your powers. I haven't seen a banshee in a long while," Araya purred, a smile playing on her lips. "Or how about you tell me who will die, and I'll tell you a little secret about your friend, Stiles?"

 

As if on cue, she heard Stiles stumble in, the guards shoving the skinny boy in. Lydia almost stood up and rushed after Stiles if not for the look that Araya gave her.

 

Then she felt it. Lydia felt a swallowing feeling in her, as if her stomach had been sucked into a hole and she was falling, falling, falling. But she was falling sideways.

 

Stiles looked at her, his gaze wild and anxious, as if he knew how she was feeling.

 

"Lydia, you need to calm down!" He shouted, but all she could hear was the ringing in her ears.

 

And suddenly Araya picked up a pistol and shot one of the guards standing near the entrance of the steps leading to the busy town again.

 

"So you did know," Araya mused. Lydia saw Araya curl a finger at the guards holding onto Stiles as if he was the most dangerous thing in the world, and shoved him into a seat.

 

One of the guards put down his electric rod.

 

Araya picked it up, and offered it to Lydia. Confusion overridden her common sense as she asked, "What?"

 

"Take it. And electrocute Stiles. Or else I'll get Severo to force you." Lydia inhaled sharply at Araya's cruel words, spoken casually as if inviting her for tea.

 

As if she wasn't about to torture her best friend, the boy who had kept Lydia sane for a good part of her life.

 

Lydia picked up the rod, her hands trembling. Stiles looked at her, his hands bound to the chair, along with his feet, with straps made of leather and possibly lined with something else.

 

Stiles looked at her pleadingly.

 

"I can't, I can't!" Lydia shouted, tears filling up her eyes. Severo grabbed her hand. He turned on the rod, electricity crackling throughout the deadly device, the sizzling sound enough to widen Stiles' eyes.

 

And then he closed it.

 

Lydia was confused, shocked, angry, sad, all at the same time. But Severo used his grip to force her hand forward, and as the rod made contact with Stiles' skin, he screamed.

 

 

 

Stiles didn't feel pain. All he felt was power, circulating throughout him. But still, he screamed. He screamed and screamed, hoping Lydia or Severo would stop, stop feeding him the power that made the nogitsune chuckle in delight even with the impenetrable cage of light.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing how bright they'd glow if he opened them, even with his eyelids shut tight.

 

Araya spoke. "Open your eyes, Stiles."

 

He didn't.

 

"Open them, and I'll stop."

 

Lydia sobbed, and he could hear her heartbeat racing, the thumps like a wild stallion's hoofbeats.

 

Stiles couldn't let Lydia feel so much pain. Even if he didn't.

 

So he stopped screaming, his throat hoarse from it, and he opened his eyes.

 

Light seemed to flood his vision as they drew back from him, his eyes no doubt as bright as a lightbulb, glowing like mercury.

 

 

 

As Stiles opened his eyes, the first thing Lydia felt was relief as Severo drew back and she didn't have to hear his screams anymore.

 

And then she felt terrified as his eyes began to glow, the silver in it like a lightbulb. Suddenly, power seemed to crackle from him as Stiles panted, and he closed his eyes again, blinking again and again before opening them.

 

Back to their normal brown.

 

"What are you, Stiles?" Araya smiled, a serpent about to strike.

 

"I'm...," Stiles replied, his voice cracking. Tears filled his eyes, and Lydia almost rushed forward to unstrap him.

 

She didn't care that he was the nogitsune. He was still the boy that saw through her pretense. Stiles wasn't the void kitsune that killed Allison.

 

He was in control.

 

"Good," Araya said. "Now bring them back to wherever they were supposed to meet."

 

Lydia heaved a sigh of relief as Stiles was unstrapped. But the boy stared at Lydia as if hoping she didn't see a monster.

 

And she didn't.

 

"I won't tell anyone, Stiles," Lydia whispered. And the boy nodded, his hands trembling. Lydia grasped onto them as they walked out to the Jeep, finding Malia already there.

 

"Thank god you're safe!" Malia hugged Stiles.

 

"And you too, I guess," Malia said, shrugging at Lydia. Stiles looked at her, and gave a shaky smile.

 

"Where's Scott and Kira?" Stiles asked.

 

"Still inside."

 

And as Araya came out again, this time flanked by two burly men, a small curse escaped from Stiles' lips as they knocked out Malia with more wolfsbane gas, Lydia with a large hit to her head, and grabbed Stiles.

__

 


	2. Chapter 2

Scott woke up to Araya's smirking face staring down at him, and found himself bound by some sort of leather that he couldn't yank himself from.

 

He saw Kira standing at some sort of electrical switch, and realised that he was bound to not only a chair, but an electrical chair. Beside him was Stiles, who blinked and groaned. And was also in chains.

 

"Did we really have to knock out Malia and Lydia?" Stiles muttered, and tested the straps.

 

Araya ignored him, and spoke. "Kira, when I tell you to, electrocute Scott. Or else, Severo," She points to the man, holding a gun and another one strapped to his back as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "will electrocute Stiles."

 

And then she tilted her head at the panic that cleared the world like wiping a mirror of its fog probably in Scott's eyes. "Or shall we burn him, Severo? Seems like a little shock doesn't do much."

 

Scott didn't understand. But at those words, Kira's eyes filled with tears of shock, regret, and emotions that mirrored Scott's own. Stiles just looked like a deer caught in headlights, sweat beading on his forehead and running down his face.

 

"Who took Derek Hale?" Araya asked, no more of a question than a spoken command.

 

"We don't know! Torturing us isn't going to change anything!" Stiles shouted, struggling against the straps as if he'd have a chance against two men with electrical rods and a blowtorch, which Scott registered again in his confusion.

 

And then Araya said, "Electrocute Scott."

 

Kira looked at him, and the gaze was as painful as the shock afterwards as he nodded, a signal to do what the Calaveras wanted.

 

And she still hesitated. Stiles' breath quickened ever so slightly, yet Scott could hear his heart pounding like bolts of lightning, quick and loud.

 

And then Kira turned the dial. Electricity began to crackle, and a sort of agony flooded through Scott's body as he shouted in pain. He could see Stiles in the corner of his sight, staring at him with such pain as if Scott was the one watching and Stiles was being electrocuted.

 

He heard a sort of ringing, a yell from Araya, "Think, Scott! Who had a vendetta particular to the Hales, who had the power of a shapeshifter, who could've been turned, but not by a bite?"

 

He could smell the tears flowing down Stiles' and Kira's cheeks.

 

 

 

Stiles could see Scott arching in pain, could see the electricity flowing through his body and leaving intense shock as Araya yelled and yelled for him to remember.

 

He should've been the one. If Araya hadn't figured out who he was, he could've taken it for Scott. Scott wouldn't had to be in so much pain.

 

His best friend.

 

And he could do nothing to stop it. Not the leather, because if he broke out of it Scott and Kira would realise he wasn't entirely human.

 

Not anymore.

 

So all Stiles could do was watch his friend scream and thrash, and do nothing about it.

 

Stiles saw Araya grab the dial, and wrench Kira's hand away from it as she turned the dial up and up and up until the chains holding Scott crackled with electricity.

 

Finally, Stiles saw Scott roar. Relief sighed through him, the anxiety passing through him as heavy as a lightning bolt now more like an electric shock.

 

"It's Kate," Scott said, panting as he shattered the chains containing him. "It's Kate."

 

Stiles couldn't believe his ears. He sputtered, "Kate? That's not possible! She's a werewolf hunter and an Argent. Also had her throat ripped out by Peter, if anyone remembers."

 

"Oh, she's alive," Araya said. "And she has Derek Hale."

 

 

 

Malia and Lydia were standing next to the Jeep, Malia leaning on the Jeep's door as Lydia paced around anxiously.

 

"Will they come out?" Lydia said, the words coming out in a rush.

 

"Beats me."

 

"Can you hear anything?"

 

"Nope."

 

But Malia had. She caught bits and pieces of the conversation, only because she couldn't focus well enough with the fact that Stiles could have been tortured in the room that he was being dragged into.

 

"You sure?" Lydia rose an eyebrow, no doubt at her concentrated expression.

 

"Well," Malia looked at the banshee. "I heard something. Bits and pieces, but..."

 

"Well?"

 

"Someone like Kate Argent becoming a were-something and taking Derek Hale."

 

Malia saw Lydia recoil in shock, and she tilted her head. "What?" She asked Lydia.

 

"Kate is dead."

 

Malia scoffed. "Probably not," She replied.

 

She heard a heartbeat. Then two, then four as Stiles, Kira and Scott emerge with Araya. Of course one of her guards accompanied her, but it's better than nothing. Malia's eyes instantly landed on Stiles, and she looked at him to assess him for injuries before deeming him safe.

 

And she didn't have to kill the guard.

 

"So that's it? You're just...letting us go?" Scott asked.

 

"I have sent four men to the location where Kate rumoured to have been seen and none of returned. Maybe a group of naive teenagers would do better," Araya replied. "You wouldn't have believed me anyways if I told you Kate was alive."

 

Scott looked at her, and she continued. "Now I know what kind of Alpha you are, and where your next step lies."

 

"What next step?"

 

"When you take a bite of an innocent, when you make a wolf of your own—when you do that, then I will cross your border and come knocking at your door."

 

Malia resisted the urge to growl at the hunter as she told the rest of them that she had arranged a guide to lead them to Kate's last location.

 

And as Braeden turned up in her motorbike, looking badass as hell, Malia decided she liked Braeden.

 

"Right now I'm the only one who's going to La Iglesia," She said, jumping off her motorbike and pulling off her helmet.

 

Malia didn't know who Kate was, and she definitely didn't know what the La Iglesia was.

 

"The church?" Lydia asked.

 

"What's the church?" Stiles asked.

 

"It's not a place you can find God," Braeden said, shrugging. She pulled on her helmet again, and got on her bike. "Let's go."

 

 

 

Stiles grabbed onto the scorching wheel with his hands, and it felt like his fingers were getting peeled off.

 

"So, who's Kate?" Malia asked, poking her head between Scott and Stiles in the front seat from the rear.

 

"Yeah, who is she? You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” Kira added.

 

Malia said, “Yes he does.”

 

"And how is she alive?" Stiles said, looking at Scott.

 

Scott sighed, and said, "Kate Argent was a werewolf hunter. She's the one who set the Hale house on fire, which caused Peter Hale to rip her throat out.

 

"The Calaveras went to the morgue to verify Kate's death, but they realised the closer it got to a full moon, the more Kate was healing. So they replaced her body with another and took her to a place where they gave her a knife. It's a rule that you have to kill yourself if you're a hunter and about to get turned by an Alpha.

 

"But instead of killing herself, she faked her own death and killed dozens of people to escape."

 

Stiles frowned from beside Scott. How was that possible? Deeper than a scratch? He pointed out, "Is she a werewolf though?"

 

"They're not sure. Remember that sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are?"

 

Lydia rolled her eyes and said, "What kind of shape is a sociopathic bitch?"

 

Suddenly, the Jeep rolled to a rocky stop, and Stiles cursed. _Not_ _now_ , _Roscoe!_

 

Scott looked at Braeden and Kira. "I'll go with Braeden on her bike. You guys can catch up later."

 

Kira nodded, but Stiles was already fumbling for his duct tape and wrench to fix the sputtering Jeep.

 

"Can't we just leave the Jeep behind and run with you guys? I'm pretty sure we're faster than a motorbike," Malia asked.

 

"Stiles and Lydia are human. Only you and Kira would be able to run that fast," Scott said.

 

Stiles felt his heartbeat jump slightly, the pace increasing. He exchanged a look with Lydia. "We'll fix this soon enough, you and Braeden can go first."

 

He turned to see Kira embracing Scott, her arms tight around his neck as if she never wanted to let go. Still, Braeden broke the rather romantic atmosphere. "Sun's going down. We either leave now or wait till tomorrow. Gets dangerous when it's dark."

 

Scott gently pried Kira's arms away, and he got on Braeden's bike, the mercenary revving it up and driving away in a cloud of smoke.

 

Stiles turned his focus back onto his Jeep.

 

"Hey, Stiles?"

 

"Yeah?" He turned to look at Malia, who was holding up a shard of shrapnel. No, bone. Teeth of some sort.

 

"I don't think we hit something. I think something hit us."

 

Stiles let out another curse. He squinted at the sky, the slate of blue with the absence of white clouds. It was getting dark.

 

He saw Kira and Malia surveying the distance, as if trying to see who was coming, or worse, going to attack. They couldn’t see anything. But that was good, right?

 

 

 

 

Braeden drove them to a hill, something creating over a sight. As Scott swung his leg over and alighted, he found Braeden pointing at a city.

 

A city of sand and ruins. Half of it was decimated, gone, as if one day the city had decided to crumble in on itself. Scott marvelled at how old it would've been.

 

"An earthquake levelled the entire town, but somehow the church remained standing," Braeden said.

 

"Why?"

 

"Locals think it's because the church was built over the ruins of an Aztec temple that belonged to some werejaguars. I've never gotten this close, but we're about to get closer."

 

And they did. With the shade of the earth darkening with every moment, they rode to La Iglesia.

 

As they stood in front of the church, Scott looked up, seeing how big it truly was. And how dark. Vines crawled from every corner, and dust accumulated in not only spots, but around the whole building like a sacred ruin that had been left for centuries.

 

A click of a gun had Scott turning around. He looked at Braeden, who only pointed her gun at the building. "Let's go."

 

As they entered the building, Scott hearing nothing but his own heartbeat and Braeden's, he asked, "What happens if you find Kate?"

 

"I bring her back to the Calaveras. Whatever happens next is not my problem. That's all I was paid for."

 

"You don't care?"

 

"Do you? She's a mass murderer."

 

Scott brushed by the thick cobwebs and small bones on the floor that were kind of unnerving him.

 

"And you're a mercenary."

 

Braeden shrugged. "Girl's gotta eat."

 

After a moment of silence, Scott asked again, "If you were paid enough, would you kill her?"

 

"If the money was good? I would kill you."

 

Silence began to build up between them after those words. Scott walked further into the church, and Braeden finally asked, the words less than a breath, "Caught Derek's scent?"

 

"No. But there's something in here. Something not...human."

 

 

 

 

Stiles heard an unsheathing of a sword. He had been looking at his Jeep for the past half an hour, and Lydia's hand started to shake as she held the flashlight.

 

Stiles sighed and poked at the wires and machinery in the Jeep as he said, "Lydia, can you please just hold the flashlight still for a second? It's really hard to see anything when you keep shaking it like that."

 

"I'm shaking it like this because we're in the middle of nowhere with your broken-down Jeep and we're being attacked by yet another razor-clawed monster. And I'm terrified."

 

Stiles reined in his sigh and said, "Well, just be slightly less terrified."

 

He grabbed onto a box-looking thing from his Jeep and passed it to Lydia. "What's that?" She asked.

 

"I don't know, but I'm hoping it's not important," He shrugged.

 

Stiles heard Kira and Malia trying to figure out who it was, to no avail.

 

He saw Kira approach his Jeep with her deadly katana.

 

"Now, don't hurt my Jeep alright?" Stiles muttered and held out a hand. They were all insane. Then again, he came up with the plan.

 

She directed the light from the Jeep to Malia.

 

Apparently Malia saw something, because she growled and ran away. Stiles cursed yet again, and ran after her, shouting, "Malia!"

 

He could feel Kira charging after him, but he turned and said, "No, stay with Lydia! Fix the Jeep! I'll go after Malia!" Kira skidded to a stop and nodded.

 

He almost caught Malia's scent before he heard Kira shout, "How the heck am I supposed to fix a Jeep?"

 

Stiles skidded to a stop and looked around. He couldn't see Malia or their mysterious razor-clawed monster.

 

He heard rustling behind him, and turned almost immediately.

 

 _God_ , _Malia_. _Come_ _back_ _faster._

 

Again and again the rustling sounded, each time getting closer. Stiles felt more nervous with each sound, each slight crack of a branch.

 

He finally saw someone run out, and he almost grabbed them and flung them eight feet at a tree if not for Malia's familiar gait.

 

"I don't know what that was, but it was big and fast and it cuts deep," She panted.

 

Stiles realised that the werecoyote was cut. Or slashed, depending on what they were dealing with. "Alright let's go, I hear the Jeep!"

 

"How..." Malia's question was cut off as Stiles began flat-out sprinting, tugging her along with him. He didn't use too much speed.

 

He was fast. Faster than any of them. So if he'd used his full speed...she would've realised.

 

So he jogged back, grabbing onto Malia, who put a hand to staunch the wound and let herself heal faster.

 

 

 

Braeden walked around, kicking up piles of dust and bones before speaking again. "Why didn't you kiss Kira when you left?"

 

"She isn't officially my girlfriend."

 

"So if you die down here, are you going to regret not kissing her? You should've kissed your girlfriend."

 

Scott decided that Braeden was very brave and very unlike himself.

 

Scott heard a clicking sound. It was like bone moving against bone, the soft grinding of metal and bone, or something worse.

 

"Do you hear that?"

 

"Definitely do."

 

Scott looked around, and heard his breath come to him in short huffs.

 

Suddenly, the clicking stopped.

 

And in place was a loud smashing, like the cracking of the foundation of the bones itself as whatever creature it was came running. Braeden emptied clip after clip after clip into the creature as Scott looked around,not knowing what to do.

 

 

 

 

"Never do that again! I thought you'd taken off and was running," Stiles said to Malia as they continued their drive to the La Iglesia, their only source of light the Jeep's flickering headlights and the moonlight.

 

"I was running."

 

"No—I mean like, I thought you were leaving."

 

"I wouldn't leave without you."

 

Malia turned towards him by shifting in her seat, and Stiles blinked.

 

"Really?"

 

"I would never leave without you. Them," She gestured at Lydia and Kira, and Stiles gave them an apologetic wince. "I would leave."

 

Lydia looked pissed off. Her face conveyed the feeling that she wanted to punch Malia in the face, and Stiles couldn't blame her. But still.

 

"It's progress," He said.

 

"I'm healing. I couldn't see what attacked me, but it had a strong scent."

 

"Like what?"

 

"Like death."

 

Well, that was lovely.

 

 

Bang after bang sounded to no avail from the creature's path to them. Braeden breathed, "Get behind me, Scott."

 

But he had an idea. He didn't budge, and let out a roar that seemed to shake the foundations of the church and threaten to crumble the whole building.

 

The creature was silent.

 

"I think I scared it."

 

"I think you scared everything."

 

A sound rumbled behind them, and as Scott turned to see a wall shifting to find circles of carvings embedded into the stone itself, of some sort of god judging by the looks of it, Braeden surveyed it with a grim expression.

 

Scott's heart jumped as he put his face to further examine the strange carvings, yet he understood nothing. So he just broke the wall.

 

He almost dropped the flashlight he shone into the opening behind the wall, and Scott could hear Braeden's sharp intake of breath.

 

He was shocked. Very shocked. Suddenly, the person in the tomb-like opening reached a hand out for them, the arm shaking. And all Scott could do was stare. At least for a while.

 

 

 

 

Stiles spotted the church and he hit the gas pedal, before slamming his foot down on the brakes.

 

He winced at the sputtering. He should've been nicer to his Jeep.

 

His headlights caught a glimpse of Scott and Braeden pulling someone out, and Stiles jumped down along with Malia.

 

He ran over, not quite believing his eyes. Malia frowned at the figure between Scott and Braeden.

 

"Is that him? Is that Derek?"

 

Stiles didn't know what to say. "Sort of." He ran a hand through his hair.

 

Derek was somehow a younger, smaller teenager. With a very confused expression. What had happened?

 

Stiles shot Scott a look, and Scott could only return a helpless shrug.


	3. three

 

Derek stared at the mercenary in his loft as Peter brooded beside him. Braeden reclined and put her feet on the table.

 

Peter, now visibly irked beside him, said, "The table's Italian."

 

Braeden replied, "So are these boots. Are we going to talk interior design and fashion or are we going to talk numbers?"

 

Peter let out a frustrated sigh, and grabbed a pen to scribble words on a piece of paper. Derek couldn't help but let his thoughts wander back to the change of his eye colour.

 

Derek watched Braeden give the number on the paper one look, cross it out, and write a new number before pushing it back to them.

 

Peter wrote a new number that Braeden didn't even look at.

 

His patience peaked and Derek ripped up the paper, saying, "Look, we'll pay whatever you want as long as you find Kate."

 

Braeden raised an eyebrow and left. Peter glared at the door as if he could shoot lasers out of his eyes at it and hit the mercenary, and slammed the door behind them.

 

"Are you insane?" Peter asked.

 

Derek glared back at him. "We don't have a choice. We spent a week looking for Kate and came up with nothing."

 

Peter said, "If we don't find out who told Kate about the vault, we don't get those bonds back. What do you think I'm going to do then, huh? Get a job? My resume is slightly out of date. We got robbed, Derek. Robbed."

 

Derek turned around, and before he moved he felt a hand on his shoulder. It burned like an imprint. He turned around and growled at Peter, who raised his eyebrows at his eyes.

 

"That's a new look."

 

 

 

Stiles arrived at the lacrosse field with Scott. They were going to practice for tryouts, the familiar blue skies and dried-up yellow grass on the field a welcome sight from the past few months of Stiles' life. Stiles looked at Scott, who'd kept his grades up, but he didn't really know if Coach still allowed him to be captain, and only told them to show up at tryouts.

 

There's probably bigger things to worry about, like Kate still being alive.

 

Stiles asked Scott, "Have you contacted Argent yet?"

 

"I texted him but he didn't get back to me."

 

"You told him his sister, Kate, came back from the dead over a text?"

 

Sometimes Stiles wanted to punch Scott at his impracticality. If someone was dead came back, Stiles preferred to be notified over a call. Or in person. Never a text.

 

People don't come back from the dead.

 

Then again, there was a freaking nogitsune inside him. He shouldn't be so judgemental.

 

Scott replied, jarring him from his thoughts, "I didn't have the money to call France."

 

Well, that was added to their list of 117 million problems that had to be dealt with. Honestly, their status on the team barely mattered anymore.

 

Until Stiles peered on the field and found a new goalie blocking every shot expertly, bending here and there quickly like it was an easy thing.

 

Okay, who the hell was that?

 

The goalie took off his helmet and grinned at the team. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, like those cliche teen dramas.

 

Ugh.

 

"Maybe we should practise as well," Stiles decided.

 

 

 

Melissa was tired, and her bones were crying in agony at the long hours of work at the hospital. She had dredged up bare energy to work extra long shifts to earn more money. It was true that they had less money than they did before, but Melissa wasn't going to put more weight on Scott's shoulders than there already was.

 

A doctor walked beside Melissa, and she told him, "The nursing staff is being spread way too thin,"

 

He replied, "I know. There's never a good place to make cuts but this hospital has seen a bizarre amount of damage and the insurance isn't going to cover it. We have to cut back."

 

Melissa thought for a moment. "Maybe I could pull money from the paedriatrics."

 

The doctor laughed, but not at Melissa. He put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Go home, Melissa. It's 7am and your shift is over. I'm tired by just looking at you."

 

Melissa decided that maybe it would be better for the patients and herself if she wasn't sleep deprived until her next shift, and nodded. But before she could leave, she heard footsteps thudding in the hallway.

 

She turned to see a boy, bloodied and injured, running into the hospital. He collapsed on the ground, aforementioned bloody hand still reaching out for them.

 

Melissa sighed. Her work was never done. Her shift had to wait, and so did her sleep.

 

She looked at the bodies in the morgue with Sheriff Stilinski, and said, "The wounds are a combination of sharp and blunt forced trauma. The ME said that it was some kind of axe and that's a human weapon."

 

Stilinski said, "If this is everyday homicide instead of the supernatural kind then maybe we can give them the day off from the world of murder and massacres."

 

"When do we get a day off?"

 

Stilinski gave her a look, and Melissa already knew the answer to that.

 

 

 

Kira felt anger flare up in her as if it were the only feeling able to consume her then as she discovered the "For Sale" sign outside her house. Their house.

 

"Mom! Why did you put the house up on sale! And you didn't tell me!" She shouted at them, hearing her voice reverberating across house.

 

Her mother looked at her with a sort of pity, the kind of look one used for a child. "We told you that living in Beacon Hills was temporary."

 

Kira protested indignantly, saying, "That was after you told me I was a kitsune and was going to have to destroy a dark spirit by stabbing and killing one of the few friends I've made in this town."

 

"And you didn't have to. I call that a win."

 

Kira sighed. She knew that there was virtually no way to convince her mother to allow them to stay, but she tried anyway. "Dad's an important teacher at the high

 

Her father pointed out, "I was a professor back at Columbia."

 

Her mother looked at her sternly. "You'll make new friends, Kira."

 

Kira glared at her. "Not like these! You don't know them like I do! Lydia, Stiles, Malia—"

 

Her words were cut off by her mother. "And Scott?"

 

Kira was taken aback. "Who?"

 

"He wasn't your first boyfriend and he won't be your last."

 

Kira wasn't even sure Scott _was_ her boyfriend. It seemed like the lines within Scott's friends had been muddled, and the ranks or roles in his "pack" were kind of a mess. The prospect of having to even ask Scott if they were dating was enough to shut Kira up.

 

 

"Why _are_ you so good at lacrosse?" Scott asked. Stiles and Scott had cornered Liam in the boys' locker room.

 

Liam raised an eyebrow.

 

Stiles pointed out, "Not missing a single shot is suspicious. _Really_ suspicious."

 

"That's the point of being goalie," Liam retaliated.

 

Stiles gave him the look.

 

Liam admitted, "I transferred here from Devonford Prep."

 

Scott seemed to have heard something, and Stiles gave him another look. His wolfy hearing senses probably became a lie detector as Scott said, "You didn't transfer. You were kicked out."

 

"Look, it doesn't matter, okay? I came to play lacrosse and the team could use a few good players," Liam said defensively, now glaring at Scott with death in his eyes. Stiles was very suspicious of this kid.

 

Stiles decided to forgo all subtlety and asked, "All right, how'd you get this good? Have you always been this good or did it suddenly happen just once overnight? Have you ever been out in the middle of the woods during the night of a full—"

 

"Stiles!" Scott cut him off, giving him a glare. God, everyone was so aggressive. Stiles put up his hands, and instead directed the look back at Liam.

 

Liam replied, "I learned from my stepfather, who was team captain when he was sophomore. And yes, I'm just that good." Liam shoved by Stiles and Scott, Stiles watching Scott tense, but nod anyways.

 

Liam wasn't lying.

 

 

 

Malia made it all the way to the entrance of math class before deciding that she was done with the crazy equations of x and y and square root of a thousand square feet. She took one look at the board, and abruptly spun and left, pulling a face of disgust.

 

And then Stiles found her already halfway across the halls, and dragged her back to this misery.

 

He justified his actions by saying when they got to their seats, "Maths is essential to learn how much to tip at restaurants."

 

Lydia who was sitting beside Malia, glared at Stiles and said, "Maths is also good for less important things like medicine, economics, and engineering."

 

The teacher called up Malia and Lydia to answer sums on the board. She turned, panicked to see Stiles giving her two thumbs ups.

 

She growled at him.

 

The smile on his face disappeared immediately, and as Malia stalked up to the board at the overwhelming equations she understood half of, she saw Lydia beside her already solving the problem.

 

Lydia hissed, "Didn't you go over the notes I gave you?"

 

Malia hissed back, "I didn't understand them!"

 

Lydia looked around, and Malia did too, seeing the teacher busy with someone else. Lydia whispered the answer to her, and relief crashed into her so hard. She was not spending another day humiliated because she didn't know who Abraham Lincoln was.

 

Still didn't, but not the point.

 

"Put your claws away!" Lydia hissed again.

 

She was shaken out of her thoughts and looked at her hands. The claws had came out because of stress. She winced and retracted them.

 

Malia heard the familiar ping of Stiles' phone going off as she returned to her seat.

 

 

 

"Triple homicide. Guys! Triple!" Stiles pointed out, walking beside Scott and Kira.

 

Scott said, "My mom already called me. She said to stay out of it."

 

Kira said, "I think we should let the adults handle it."

 

Stiles gaped at them, the two sickening lovebirds. He said, "So the two of you—you just want to stay here at school and go to class? I've never heard anything so irresponsible in my life."

 

Stiles walked away, and decided that he was going to do something whether they liked it or not. He had too much power brimming at the tips of his fingers, and something had to be done before the nogitsune overpowered him again.

 

Stiles found Scott at the locker room, his expression a mix of confusion and guilt. His friend was leaning against the metal shelves and Stiles walked over to ask what happened.

 

Scott said, "I kissed Kira. It was our first kiss since our actual first kiss.”

 

”How was it? The kids?”

 

“It was like a kiss you give your grandmother when you're five."

 

"Oh, chaste. You gave her a chaste kiss."

 

Scott frowned. "Yeah. And now it's all weird. It's all completely weird and I don't know what to do. Maybe I should text her."

 

Stiles sighed. The poor boy may be a True Alpha, werewolf extraordinaire, but he didn't know shit about common sense. He patted Scott on the shoulders and said, "No. Just...no with the texts."

 

Coach entered then, and as everyone diverted their attention from strapping on their lacrosse gear, Stiles included, to staring at Coach, he said, "It's an open tryout today. All positions are available. This is a rebuilding season."

 

Then Stiles watched him frown upon his checkboard, and say, "Jackson's gone, Lahey's gone, Greenberg, the one guy I actually wanted gone, was held back. Again."

 

Stiles then watched Scott, brash as he was, walk up to Coach. He stood back and listened in to Scott saying, "I'm on the team, right?"

 

"You're on the team, but all spots are open. Now get your ass on the field, McCall!"

 

Stiles blinked, as if to tune out his supernatural hearing again as he and Scott, the latter trudging rather severely to the field.

 

The sun blared down mercilessly at them,and he turned to see Kira and Malia at the stands, the former waving at them while the latter was studying a precalculus book.

 

Crap. Tryouts had started, and the first thing Coach was grading them on was running. Now, Stiles was capable of running from supernatural homocidal creatures. But that was because of the adrenaline. Put him in a field and watch chaos erupt as he collapses halfway and pukes.

 

As Stiles began to run, he felt the power in him being slowly siphoned off, like taking the edge off a volcano about to erupt. He could hear Coach saying, "Horrible. Terrible. Pathetic. Unbelievably pathetic. Is that everyone?"

 

He tried to catch up, but they'd all crossed the finish line. And as Stiles gave one last burst of speed, relishing the feel of the cold-kissed wind against his face, a stark contrast from the burning sun, he tripped, quite literally, against thin air and fell face-first.

 

"Yep, that's everyone."

 

Stiles rolled over and panted, giving up. He heard Scott walk over, and his best friend hauled him upwards and said, "I got you," No doubt assuming he had fallen over because he was too tired.

 

Stiles asked, "Who's first?"

 

Scott jerked his head towards the field, where everyone was either toppled over or sitting, panting like crazy.

 

Except for one guy.

 

The new lacrosse extraordinaire, Liam. Who was doing push-ups while everyone looked half-dead. The smug little shit.

 

Stiles blinked at him, and said, his breath barely winded, "What is he? Like a werecheetah? Does that even exist? Is that a thing?"

 

"I think he's just that good."

 

Stiles mimicked gagging and said, "I'm gonna puke, take me somewhere."

 

And then he needed to score goals. Honestly, Stiles didn't even want to bother with the team anymore, even though he'd always had the dream of being some sort of athlete, but clearly he already had the enhanced strength and agility to. He just...couldn't suddenly improve.

 

He waved his lacrosse stick around and scooped up a ball. Stiles swung it hard, and aimed directly for the goalie's lacrosse stick's net.

 

It landed.

 

Stiles acted like he was embarrassed and malcontented, part of it easy now with the trickster spirit in him sometimes guiding things, pushing his emotions and facial expressions around to allow him to deceive people easily. Stiles wasn't proud of it, but it was a handy trick and it was useful when it needed to be used.

 

Liam immediately scored a goal. Seriously, is that kid not good at anything? Stiles rolled his eyes, and saw Scott take a deep breath. His best friend swung his stick, and the ball bounced off the edge of the goalpost.

 

Garrett, a guy on their team, snorted. "Nice shot, McCall!"

 

Stiles gave a half-smirk, half-glare at Garrett, and said, "Hey Garrett, shut up!"

 

Garrett's eyes seemed to stay on his for a second, as if something was wrong with Stiles and he couldn't figure it out. And then Garrett flipped him off.

 

But Stiles couldn't unsee that, the shadows haunting Garrett's eyes, like a storm cloud in the clear blue of his eyes as he watched Liam continue to excel in lacrosse and Scott not.

 

Stiles pulled Scott aside. "Can you suck less at this game?"

 

"I can't use my wolf powers. It's cheating."

 

" I just—I hate seeing this little freshman come in and steal all your glory after you worked your tooshie off. I hate it."

 

"He's not gonna steal all the glory."

 

 _Really_ , _Scott?_ Because Liam just scored another shot and the whole team seemed ready to kiss his ass and make out with him. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, and saw Scott's eyes glow red.

 

"Scott, Stiles! Grab the long sticks. You're on goal, two-on-ones!"

 

Stiles wasn't going to do much. At his bare minimum, him with the nogitsune's abilities was way more than him before it trying his best. So when the players charged up one by one, he let Scott do the work, and only did he kick their asses when Scott couldn't.

 

At least they were doing well then.

 

Until smug-faced, smirking Liam's turn came. When the kid ran, it was slow to his eyes, but probably fast to everyone else. So he let the boy get past him while his mouth was agape even though he could've easily flipped him up and over, and Scott seemed to rumble with anger.

 

"That was luck! Do-over!" He heard a familiar voice shout. Malia had stood up and started shouting at Coach.

 

"That's not how it works, Malia!" Coach shouted back.

 

Stiles rubbed his face with his hand and muttered, "No, Malia, No!"

 

Then Malia glared at Coach and said, "Ten bucks on Scott and Stiles."

 

"Now that's the spirit! Liam, get back in there!"

 

Stiles' shock wasn't feigned when he saw Liam running back in, ready to knock them down again. Stiles heard Scott growl from beside him, and part of him already knew the trouble that was coming. He cursed, and hoped Liam was a werewolf and had healing abilities, because it was about to get horrible. In the worst ways possible.

 

Scott and Liam collided half-way across the field. Liam flipped over backwards, and landed awkwardly on his leg. Stiles winced. He swore he heard the faintest crack of bone when Liam made impact against the ground.

 

Scott looked panicked, and Stiles said, "We'll take him to the nurse!" They lugged him off, but not before he heard Coach's little cry of anger, and the whoosh of a ball soaring through the air. He whipped his head around, but Kira, who had somehow gotten ahold of a lacrosse stick, caught it before it smashed straight into Malia's face and caused a bloodbath. Possibly another broken bone. Stiles saw her and Malia exchanged looks, and Coach seemed surprised. He waved his hands around wildly. "Throw it back!"

 

Kira nodded, still half in shock, and waved the stick. It landed straight in Coach's chest. Stiles turned back swiftly, but not before he caught Malia looking at him like an unsolved mystery.

 

"Someone ask her if she's played lacrosse before!"


	4. four

 

Kira waited outside the nurse's office, her body suddenly feeling jittery all over, like she had too much energy. She wanted to go out and run for the spite of it.

 

First, she saw the dark hair, then the dark eyes as Scott emerged, and shock overtook his features as he said, "Oh. Hey!" He waved at her. Then Scott winced, and drew a hand through his hair.

 

"I'm sorry about the weird kiss."

 

"Oh. It's uh...it's okay."

 

Scott popped up, and his mouth turned into a. circle as his eyes widened, and he said, "Really?"

 

She nodded. Scott went back into the office, and for a second Kira opened her mouth, the urge to call him back tugging against her so hard she almost couldn't resist. And then she put her hand down, looking at it like it was out of her control.

 

And then Scott walked back out, grinning at her. "You know what?" He said. "I'm not sorry."

 

Kira jumped up at the sound of his voice, like a soothing ocean to calm the bumpiness in her nerves ever since morning as they met each other, their lips seeming to fuse together as she grabbed onto his hair.

 

Kira didn't want the moment to end, but it did. And as they both pulled away at the same time, giant goofy grins likely plastered on their faces until the end of time, Kira breathed, his arms still around his neck, "Call me later."

 

And they pulled apart fully, like two halves of a puzzle piece not ready to be solved yet. Not ready to form the full picture. But their hearts would still yearn for each other, the missing piece that fit perfectly in the hole someone carved out and kept.

 

 

 

Lydia decided that the deputy was a good guy, and therefore shouldn't be much of an asshole when he discovered her wandering around a house she'd found in a trance, lost and confused. Lydia had put a hand out, trying to sense for anything, but everything that came back was nothing, and nothing was everything.

 

"Why are you here?" Deputy Parrish asked.

 

Lydia shrugged, saying, "I can't really explain it because I don't understand it myself."

 

"Just an unusual habit of showing up at places where people have been brutally murdered."

 

Lydia looked back at him, the mask of teenager arrogance and indigance sliding into place. "Are you saying I have a reputation?"

 

"An unusual one. Are you psychic?"

 

Lydia rolled her eyes, the gesture in contrast to the loud hammering of her heart. It felt like it was going to jump out of her mouth any moment as she said, "Don't tell me you believe all that."

 

Parrish just shrugged, saying he kept an open mind. Lydia wondered what would've happened if she told him about werewolves and banshees.

 

"Besides, if you're looking for dead bodies, you're a little late," Parrish said.

 

He'd probably deem her crazy.

 

Lydia couldn't hear him over the rustling in her ears. Like a sound someone would make if they had grabbed a plastic bag and had started to rub their hands on either side. She looked at a wall, mahogany with dark lines running down that looked like faces that were screaming.

 

She put out a trembling hand, and Lydia barely registered Deputy Parrish's hovering presence behind her as it sprung open as soon as her fingertips brushed against it, chilly air escaping and wrapping around her face like a wisp of a ghost.

 

Parrish grabbed his gun and used a torch to illuminate the dark, strange room that Lydia had just revealed, the dust in there accumulating enough that Lydia had to swing her hands around to be able to see even a few feet in front of her as she followed the deputy.

 

They arrive in front of a freezer, with bags hanging front the ceiling. Deputy Parrish seemed to be unbothered by the cold as he said, "I think it's a game locker for things like venison."

 

Lydia rubbed her hands against her arms, trying to conserve heat as the deputy unzipped a bag, and whatever heat she'd managed to scavenge disappeared entirely when he revealed a dead woman's body in it, leaving her body chilled to the spine.

 

"This isn't venison."

 

 

 

 

Melissa creaked open the door to Sean Walcott's ward as she walked in slowly, only to check in on the boy. He was still shaking, and Melissa saw with a pang that when she'd left, the boy had a hand pressed to his mouth, his eyebrows scrunched up like he was about to cry.

 

She closed the door behind him. Melissa found Scott and Stiles in the lobby, and she hastily grabbed a wheelchair to put Liam in and took him off to be examined.

 

 

 

 

"This isn't your fault, Scott. Look, if you'd used any wolf powers, Liam would've been crawling back to the other half of his body, not limping around with a possible sprained ankle," Stiles said to Scott, who had the saddest and guiltiest expression on his face that was ever humanely possible, and was looking at the backs of the grimacing Liam and his mother, wheeling him off with a grim expression.

 

"Yeah, but none of this would've ever happened if I didn't feel the need to always be team captain."

 

Stiles shrugged, and patted Scott on the shoulder. "It’s okay to want something for yourself sometimes. Team captain, alpha werewolf... you're still only human."

 

Stiles turned to see Malia skidding to a stop behind them. "Hey! I saw Liam get injured and I thought you would come here. So, how is he? Are you still team captain?"

 

Stiles groaned internally.

 

 

 

 

Noshiko groaned. "Ken! Why hasn't anyone come to our open house?"

 

For that answer, Ken walked in with their 'For Sale' sign hacked into pieces, the work of a katana their daughter wielded.

 

"Kira!"

 

 

 

 

Stiles asked Malia, "Aren't you supposed to be at my house? You know, to study?"

 

"Well, I figured it couldn't be better than this," Malia said.

 

"Better? _Better_?" Stiles snorted. "Okay, let's go!" He jabbed a finger towards the entrance of the hospital, and gently guided Malia there.

 

Scott received a phone call then. Judging by his expression, it wasn't anything good. Stiles knew he could've just listened in, but he respected Scott's privacy.

 

"Guys?" Scott said.

 

They turned, Malia grinning with excitement.

 

"We have to find Sean. _Now_."

 

They sped through the hallways, neither Scott nor Malia caring that they were using their enhanced speed, and that Stiles was easily matching them stride for stride.

 

They ran by wards, finally reaching the elevator. No one held it for them, but they still made it in.

 

The elevator was dreadfully slow, and Stiles wished everything could go faster. Finally, the doors slid open with a ping, and Stiles, Scott and Malia turned the corner to find Melissa being held by Sean. The latter had pure white eyes and fangs, and Stiles felt the colour drain from his face.

 

"Should've brought my baseball bat," He muttered.

 

Malia growled at Sean, and so did Scott. Scott reached them first, though. He flung Sean off his mother, and Sean ran away. Stiles' first instinct was to run after the cannibal Sean, but seeing as they all still thought he was human it wouldn't have been a good idea.

 

Scott paused to check on his mother, and Stiles ran forward too. Melissa nodded and said, "I'm fine. Go get that son of a bitch."

 

Stiles didn't think she realised that she'd cursed as they continued to run again, this time Stiles slowing down. The adrenaline wasn't there anymore, and Scott or Malia would've realised if he ran like them, maybe even faster.

 

Scott said through his panting, "The roof!" And they continued to run again.

 

They saw Sean on the room, Stiles this time actually feeling like fainting with his bloodied mouth. And the fact that he was holding Liam hostage, the poor boy reeking of fear. Malia put a hand out, to make Stiles stay back, and he frowned.

 

But Stiles understood. So he did stay back, but not before Scott moved forward and said, "Whatever you are, we can help you!"

 

Sean hissed and growled, now no more a figment of a human than a animal. "Wendigos don't need help. We need food."

 

Stiles' first thought was realising what Sean was. His second thought was focused on Malia as she let loose a growl and her eyes glowed blue, jumping for the wendigo.

 

The next events happened quickly, yet slow. It was like an illusion. Sean pushed Liam over the edge, and Scott grabbed onto his arms. Malia tried to attack the wendigo, which evaded her attacks and slashed his fangs down Malia's arms. She groaned and fell backward at Stiles, who caught her immediately.

 

Worry racked his brains, as well as the cool analytical thinking that had got him through the foggy panic that threatened to overwhelm his senses at times like this. The wendigo was pulling Scott's arms back now, and the two thing he could've done was either to take Malia's pain and help her heal, hopefully before Scott had to use his teeth and hold on, or try to fight off the wendigo and risk exposing himself.

 

But he couldn't heal Malia either. It would cause too many questions. So he lay her down gently,

 

Relief and panic fought a battle against each other for dominance of his mind, and victory was panic as Sean began to tug at his arms.

 

Scott needed to bite Liam.

 

Stiles felt rooted to the spot, and desperation forced tears to his eyes as he watched the chaos erupt from behind one of the metal railings. He felt like a coward. He remembered telling his father he wasn't a hero. And he wasn't.

 

But it was no use as finally Scott's arms came free, and Liam gave a shout. But Scott grabbed onto him with his canines, and Stiles winced.

 

Suddenly, an axe of some sort flew into Sean's chest. A gurgling sound came from him, and Stiles sat up, his eyes widening. A man, with no mouth, as if it had been sealed off, grabbed the axe and shoved it in again and again, as if making sure the wendigo was dead, blood-spurting-out-from-him-and-eyes rolled-to-the-back-of-his-head dead before grabbing the bloody axe and walking off, before turning back to the two of them, Stiles glaring at him and Scott just looking at him with anger and confusion.

 

The man only put a hand to his non-existent mouth, and walked off into the darkness.

 

Scott and Stiles looked at each other, and Scott seemed to have no clue what he was. And even with Malia still injured, Scott creating a Beta, and Stiles not helping them at all, he gave Scott a shaky smile.

 

And then they turned their attention to Liam, who was groaning in pain and cradling his arm, the spots where Scott's teeth made contact visible even with the sputtering lights and bare visibility.


	5. four

Stiles shifted on his bed, Malia beside him and frowning distastefully at her mathematics homework.

 

And then she looked at him, flipping him over. Stiles couldn't do that. He was there to help Malia with her homework, not to make out. So he flipped her back and said, "We should finish studying."

 

At Malia's look, he continued, "Then we can go back to that. Lots of that."

 

Stiles peered down at her textbook, and said, "What's with all the highlighters anyways?"

 

Malia sighed and explained, "Green is for the things I understand, yellow for the things I'm working on, and red is for when I have no clue."

 

Stiles looked back at where his old board used to be. Pinned up with red strings that led everywhere, he often had no use for the other balls of strings. And he remembered telling Lydia blue was just pretty, but blue was for something he had a theory about but couldn't prove it. He supposed with more time, they could've fit well, and Stiles loved the girl who always had a key to his heart, his soul, but he couldn't wait another ten years for someone to fit the keyhole carved into his soul. At this moment, Malia, with her highlighters and adorable smiles, seemed to fill it, as if a small part of him were put back again, as if another had joined them together with his red strings and her neon highlighters.

 

And he turned back, smiling at Malia. The werecoyote grinned back. Stiles leaned in for a kiss, but Malia shook her head and pushed him away.

 

Malia said, "Study first, remember? Why can everyone understand maths but I can't?"

 

"Because we mostly use Lydia's notes."

 

"Then someone needs to give me notes on Lydia's notes because I don't understand any of this," Malia said and pushed the notebook to Stiles.

 

He flipped through it and frowned. The notes wasn't notes. They were code, written angrily or in panic. Stiles looked at Malia, whose familiar dark eyes held the same amount of confusion probably in his. And maybe it was foolish of him to pine for someone who already returned the feelings for him, maybe even more, but Stiles sighed.

 

Suddenly, his phone pinged.

 

On his phone, a text notification appeared from Scott, saying he had needed to meet Stiles immediately.

 

Stiles frowned again, and looked at Malia. "I have to go meet Scott. You're going to be fine going home on your own?"

 

Malia nodded, and Stiles smiled at her. Malia gave him a kiss on the cheek, as light as a feather yet it left a burning sensation as intense as a fire.

 

 

 

 

 

Scott was already waiting at the door for Stiles as he pulled over. Scott said, "I bit Liam."

 

"I saw. Where is he, by the way?"

 

"Upstairs."

 

"Doing what?"

 

"Lying down."

 

Apparently he and Scott had different definitions for lying down, because when Stiles went upstairs and checked, Liam was in the bathtub, bound by lots and lots of tape and looking like he was about to sob his eyes out.

 

Stiles instantly drew back the shower curtain, leaving Liam crying out something muffled.

 

Stiles sat on Scott's bed and glared at him, sighing. Scott shuffled his way over and sat, grabbing a pillow and leaning against it.

 

Stiles said, "As a reminder, this is why I always come up with the plans. Your plans suck."

 

Scott seemed like he knew that already, but Stiles just wanted the message to be crystal clear as Scott put Liam in a chair, still bound and gagged. It reminded Stiles unnervingly of when he had been possessed by the nogitsune.

 

But he knelt down, bracing himself on one knee and said, "Liam, we're going to take off that tape right now. If you scream it's going right back on."

 

And then he ripped it off. Liam hissed, yanking his head to a side as if it would relieve the pain.

 

Stiles said, "Okay, Liam. Now, you've seen a lot of confusing things tonight and more confusing things are going to happen because of the confusing things that happened tonight. Do you understand?"

 

"Not really," Liam replied.

 

"Good," Stiles replied. "that's good."

 

He turned to Scott, who was blinking confusedly.

 

Scott said, "I don't understand either."

 

Stiles considered for a moment and stood up, using a hand to rub the bottom of his chin and said, "Maybe you should tell him."

 

Scott sighed. "Liam, what happened to you—what I did to you, which I had to do in order to save you? It's going to change you."

 

Stiles frowned. "Unless it kills you."

 

"Stiles!" Scott now glared at him with a promise of a smack over his head in his eyes.

 

Liam started to whimper. His eyes glistened, and his lips started to tremble as his whole body began shaking slightly. Well, crap. Stiles shrugged and as Scott began to untie Liam quickly, assuring him that he wasn't going to die, Stiles said, "He's right. It's a possibility."

 

Scott stared daggers at him again.

 

Finally, all the tape was off and in a pile on the floor. Liam looked helpless and sad, like a wounded animal for the maximum of ten seconds before he got out of the chair and whipped it at Scott, who put both hands up to shield himself.

 

Stiles wasn't so lucky. The boy had decided to punch him, and even though his instincts screamed at him to attack Liam back, he dodged the punch which left a small crack in Scott's bedroom wall. Liam ran out of Scott's bedroom in a blur before pausing to marvel at the fact that his possibly sprained ankle was back in tip top condition. Stiles mentally cursed as he and Scott scrabbled to their feet and grabbed Liam.

 

They ended up tackling him down the stairs, a jumble of legs and arms and lots of shouting ensuing.

 

Scott shouted, "I got him!"

 

And then they realised that the front door was wide open, the cool air spilling in, and the silhouette of a boy speeding away the only thing that they'd caught.

 

Stiles had shitty plans too.

 

Suddenly, Scott's phone rang. It was Deaton. Scott said, "Deaton wants to meet us at the clinic immediately. He says it's an emergency."

 

Stiles nodded and said, "I'll meet you there. You call Malia and the others."

 

 

 

 

Stiles hit the brakes at the entrance of the animal clinic and hopped down. He could feel his fingers moving restlessly inside his pockets after he'd turned off the engine, like fluttering pages after someone had put their thumb at the edge.

 

Stiles walked in to find Malia, Lydia, Kira, Scott and Deaton already there. They looked at him and his heart seemed to jump even faster, but when he listened to it, the beat was still even.

 

 _Do_ _what_ _I_ _tell_ _you_ _to_ , _Stiles_ ,  _and_ _we_ _walk_ _out_ _of_ _here_ _without_ _anyone_ _being_ _harmed_. The nogitsune prowled inside his head, pacing endlessly inside the cage of light that had slowly begun to dim over the past few days. It wasn't significant, but for a powerful creature like the fox, it was. Stiles didn't doubt for a second that the trickster spirit in him was the one keeping his heartbeat steady and his face relaxed, albeit confused as he asked, "What's wrong?"

 

Deaton replied, "The nogitsune got out."

 

A ripple of emotion shuddered through the room as Stiles observed everyone's reactions. Scott and Kira seemed horrified, the latter putting a hand to their mouth, and Lydia and Malia seemed angry, as if vengeful at the spirit for escaping. Yet the former already knew.

 

Stiles looked at Deaton, the acting coming to him easily because of the fox in him as he said, "Are...are you sure?"

 

The veterinarian nodded grimly. "I went to check in the glass which I lined with mountain ash, and it had been smashed open, the wooden box uncapped.

 

Stiles felt the colour drain out of his face involuntarily, and his hands starting to shake in his pockets instead of the fluttery movement, as if an earthquake had come to collapse the foundations of his life.

 

They were going to find out soon. And Stiles had to keep them in the dark until he couldn't anymore, until something happened.

 

Scott asked, "But who set the nogitsune free? And how did they even know it was there?"

 

Deaton sighed, "The fox is a cunning spirit. It probably exerted its manipulation even inside the box on someone, who snuck in here to set it free. The question is, who?"

 

Malia asked, "Who what?"

 

"Who would be its next host," Scott murmured.

 

Stiles was contented to seep into the shadows and disappear forever as they all looked at him, Lydia's eyes slightly anxious.

 

Deaton said, "Stiles, why did the nogitsune choose you?"

 

Stiles closed his fingers around his palm as he said, "I...I don't know. Maybe because I was a human? You said it yourself; a fox can't be a wolf at the same time."

 

"But then why not Lydia?"

 

Stiles could feel his whole body began to tremble, and even the nogitsune couldn't do much to calm the shattering of the calmness and facade as he shouted, "And how would I know? Deaton, I was freaking _possessed_! I remember everything, but now you're telling me there's a reason that _thing_ chose me? And that I'm supposed to know it? Yeah, thanks Doc, am I supposed to perform some sort of ritual to find out?”

 

Stiles stalked out of the room, and even he could smell his own anger, the rage that seemed to permeate off of him as he slammed the doors to the clinic and sat inside his Jeep, clutching onto the wheel.

 

Stiles turned on the engine and left, looking only once in the mirror at Scott standing behind him, his shocked face illuminated in the lights. He spun the wheel and drove back home, clutching into it until his knuckles paled to a sheen of white.

 

 

 

 

Scott felt horrible for making his best friend feel like that. As he trudged back into the room, his expression no doubt conveying the message: Stiles was mad.

 

Deaton sighed and said, "I'm sorry. I did not realise the impact that the nogitsune had on Stiles."

 

Malia frowned, the downturned lips more aggressive than sad as she spat, "I'm going after him. You guys can choose to discuss about who the nogitsune is after, but I'm going to help Stiles." Scott watched her turn and stalk out of the clinic, in a way that made him think that the girl loved his best friend terribly, enough for her to seek out Stiles and comfort him. And Scott was glad, but the little niggling guilt was still there.

 

Kira said, "Is it possible the nogitsune would go after Stiles again?"

 

Scott's heart seemed to pause and air seemed to hang in the air. Deaton's expression was grim as he said, "Yes, it is. You see, the body Stiles is in now is a husk made by the nogitsune. He would possess parts of the void kitsune's personality because of it, and make it easier for the nogitsune to enter."

 

Lydia didn't speak, and Scott noticed that. He dared a glance at her, and all she did was stare back at him with a stone-cold expression.

 

Scott felt like the circle was fracturing slowly, bit by bit flaking off. It was only a matter of time before the circle became nothing but oblivion, dust floating in the corners where they left their bonds.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles hefted the bag of chains under his bed to on it, and Malia glared at him. Malia had appeared at the door of his room after what happened the night before, and Stiles was leaning against the door frame, his head in his hands. She had grasped into his shoulders and stared at into his eyes, and that alone had been enough to calm the raging sea of emotions in him that had taken a toil on his heart.

 

Malia said, "I hate this."

 

Stiles tightened the chain on her wrists, and replied, "Then let's make it the last time we ever have to use these. We still have Liam."

 

"They're going to rip soon."

 

Stiles shrugged. And then he looked up to see his father staring at him open-mouthed. Stiles said, "Hey... uh...this is not what you think. At all."

 

Malia said, "I don't get it."

 

His father only put both hands up, already donned in his sheriff's uniform and said, "I don't even want to know."

 

 

 

 

 

Lydia opened her computer, and Kira craned her neck from beside her to stare at the odd symbols that she had written down in a trance in her notebook.

 

Kira said, "These are your notes? No wonder Malia's failing."

 

Some of the writing were notes, but most were in a code.

 

"I don't have any memory of this, but considering my drawing led us to the Nemeton, I should probably figure out what it means before it tries to kill us. It's a variation on the Vigenère cipher, so I should be able to crack it with a key," Lydia said.

 

Lydia's mom walked over and gave her a literal key, saying, "Don't invite any more than six people at a time to the lake house! Any damage will be added to your credit card debt. And Lydia, lock up the basement. The scratch marks on the wall make it look like a wild animal got in."

 

Lydia laughed nervously, not sure what to say. Her mom didn't know a third of it. And as Lydia looked back at Kira, who stared at her with her doe-like wide eyes, she sighed.

 

 

Liam slid to a stop beside Mason as he watched Garrett and Violet walk off, and his best friend sai, "Hey! Why weren't you on the bus?"

 

"I decided to run to school."

 

"All three miles?" Mason's eyebrows rose, and Liam tried to play it cool.

 

Then Mason continued, "Your ankle healed! What happened to your arm?"

 

Liam could hear everything. It was like he had put his ear into a sound amplifier, and everything was louder by a hundred times. He turned to see Scott leaning against the school sign, and his heart raced to catch up with his mind as he stammered, "Uh...I have to get to class!"

 

Mason started, but he was already halfway across the field and pushing open the doors to the school. Liam's body felt high on adrenaline, feeling small fidgety movements. Liam felt like he could've ran five more miles and not be winded at all.

 

He rounded a corner, and he heard Scott and Stiles approach. Liam was cornered by them, and he backed up against a wall, glaring at them. He could feel himself breathing heavily. He felt riled up.

 

Scott said, "We need to talk."

 

Liam gave him one chance to explain. Stiles just stood at a corner with his blue hoodie on, sighing.

 

"We're brothers now."

 

Stiles sighed even louder and put up two hands. He said, "Scott..."

 

Liam said, feeling tense, "What are you talking about? We just met and you bit me!"

 

"The bite...the bite is a gift."

 

Liam watched Stiles groan and put his head in his hands. Stiles pulled Scott away and said, "Please stop. Scott, just...stop."

 

Stiles continued, "We're trying to help you."

 

Liam didn't get it. Two random seniors came up to him and decided that kidnapping him was a good idea? He shoved past them and said as much.

 

"Just to clarify, Scott kidnapped you, okay? I aided and abetted."

 

Liam could feel rage bubbling up in him, and he felt the need to punch something. He opted for ripping the bandage off his forearm and showing it to the gaping Scott and Stiles before saying, "See? I'm fine! Nothing's happening to me!"

 

Liam stomped off in anger, pulling on the strap of his bag and making his way to class.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles leaned against the yellow school bus as they discussed what to do with Liam.

 

Malia said, "I'm not sharing my basement with anyone else."

 

Scott said, "We can put Liam in the boathouse and chain him to the support beams."

 

Stiles considered for a moment before saying, "I say if it keeps him from tearing everyone apart, we just chloroform the little bastard and throw him in the lake."

 

“I’m in,” Malia said. She put her hand up, and Stiles gestured to her.

 

Scott, to say the least, was vehemently opposed to the plan as he shot Stiles a look.

 

Lydia said, "We should just be smart and invite him to a part at the lake house."

 

"So you're going to ask out a freshman?" Stiles asked.

 

"No, I'm done with teenage boys. If we're going to play a trick on someone, we're should use the trickster," Lydia said, and discreetly shot Stiles a reassuring look before crossing her arms at the awkward teenage kitsune, Kira.


	6. six

Kira clutched onto the wheel as she drove Liam to the lake house. The music had been turned down to a soft whisper, and the night was oddly peaceful and tranquil, other than the fact that a werewolf that was out of control was panicking beside her. Still though, when she peered out of the window in front of her, trees lining the sides of the road, and the moon just barely cresting over the dark leaves, etching a silver outline across the branches.

 

She turned her attention back to the roads, the streetlights lighting it up, making it seem like a long stretch of eerieness, as if a phantom would jump out at any second. Kira said, "The lake house belongs to Lydia's grandmother. But she's dead, so it's okay. I mean, it's not okay that she's dead. Unless she's in pain."

 

She heard Liam wince beside her, and the freshman said, "Could you turn," He slammed a hand down on the dashboard, making it hard to hear whether it was up or down, "the music, please?"

 

Kira assumed it was up, because the music was so soft, she could barely hear it without her fox abilities. She said, "You want me to turn it up?" And turned the dial to a reasonable volume, the soft classic music now filling up the spaces between them that were hollow and tense, and she supposed she was the only one who relaxed in the seat, seeing as Liam bewildered and half out of his mind beside her in his seat.

 

She'd always loved the slow, classical type of music, the kind that tended to fill someone's soul with the sorrowful twangs of the violins, soft lilting touches of the piano, and graceful renditions of some other instrument. When combined together, it spoke a language to Kira that it seemed only she understood. Her whole family knew about her obsession with rock music, but very rare knew about the classical, the key to her soul.

 

Liam seemed to hate the key to her soul as he blinked, and Kira thought he looked confused.

 

Her thoughts again wandered to Stiles and his outburst, and how no one seemed to care. It was as if his anger and shouting were nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

 

 

 

 

Stiles leaned against his Jeep, savouring the feeling of the cool air against his face. He found out the reason Liam Dunbar was kicked out of Devonford Prep, and it wasn't a rather reassuring one, seeing as anger was a large factor in controlling a werewolf's shift.

 

Scott arrived and Stiles instantly strode up to him. He showed Scott the picture of the demolished car, Liam being the one who smashed the crap out of it using a crowbar, and wrote at the sides of the car. Well, it wasn't as much of writing as it was carving, ' _This_ _is_ _your_ _fault.'_

 

Scott appeared horrified, and Stiles scoffed at him. He looked at the lake house, and the moon that night. It was beautiful, yet the captivation was ephemeral as he realised Malia had already begun to fidget. Stiles remembered when he was young how he and Scott used to sneak out of the houses, much to their parents' disappointment, and lay down a hill to watch the moon rise and the stars spark to life. Now, it seemed like the silver circle that hung in the sky were a downfall for his best friend and Malia.

 

They walked inside the house, Lydia unlocking the smooth wooden door, engraved with their initials using a key. Stiles grabbed the duffel bag, which was supposed to be heavy with the cold metal chains in the bag, along with leather to clasp onto their hands. Yet it felt no more than a few pounds to Stiles as he set it out on the coffee table.

 

Finally, the door creaked open, and as they all stood in a line, bodies tensed as if waiting for a fight, Stiles realised that telling someone he was a werewolf might not incite the best reactions, especially after the psychotic cannibal wendigo that tried to eat him the night before.

 

Liam walked in, and Kira hurriedly shut the door behind him, apologising meekly.

 

He saw the chains. Scott said, "You have a problem, and we're the only ones who can help you."

 

Stiles just leaned against the wooden doorframe and crossed his arms. He wasn't intimidating in the least, not with his gangly physique, but he was strong when he needed to be.

 

"Why you?" Liam spat, his fists clenching and unclenching. Stiles sighed.

 

Scott walked over to fill him in on everyone's secret supernatural identities, and Stiles internally groaned. He knew what happened next, and it usually wasn't good.

 

"Werewolf," He looked at Scott, "werecoyote," stared at Malia, "banshee," raised his eyebrows at Lydia, "and fox?"

 

"Kitsune. But yeah, fox works," Kira shrugged.

 

Liam glared at Stiles suspiciously. He supposed if they were to really talk about glaring, it would've been more of a wary glance as he asked, "What are you?"

 

Stiles stiffened. Of course the nosy kid would ask. He _definitely_ should've chloroformed him. He awkwardly brushed his fingers through his hair and said, "For a little while I was possessed by an evil spirit. It was very evil."

 

"What are you now?"

 

Stiles wanted to punch the kid in the face, hopefully knocking him out. "Better," He muttered.

 

Liam didn't seem to care as he looked at the bag full of chains again, and Malia interrupted his dramatic audible intake of breath by saying, "That's for me."

 

And then Stiles and everyone else watched her eyes glow blue, and her triumphant smile when Liam scrambled backwards.

 

Liam shouted, "You know what? I'm done! I'm not surrounding myself with a bunch of psychotic nutjobs, who by the way, clearly dropped their sanity _somewhere_!"

 

Malia raised her eyebrows, and Scott reached out a reassuring hand. All Liam did was growl at them, and he didn't even seem to realise. It would have almost been comedic if Stiles didn't suddenly hear cars pulling up outside, and kids cheering and hooting.

 

All hell broke loose. Liam started to claw the floor in panic, Stiles stayed behind to see what happened, Malia began to lose control, Scott and Kira hailed Liam off the floor and away from the lake house into the boat house, Lydia had a minor heart attack, and Stiles grabbed the bag of chains with a hand and hustled Malia, who was breathing heavily, into the basement.

 

Lydia pulled at the ends of her hair in panic as she shrieked, "Stiles? What am I supposed to do with the hordes gathering outside the door?"

 

"Lydia, who throws the best party in Beacon Hills?"

 

"What? Me, _obviously!"_

 

"Okay, then throw a party!"

 

Lydia fumed behind him and he made a mental note never to piss Lydia off as they scrambled down the steps.

 

It was dark, and if Stiles used his eyes he'd probably see better, but he couldn't always count on it. There were still bits of moonlight streaming through the slats that were cut into the top of the room, skimming along the ceiling.

 

While his thought process were on glowing eyes, Stiles realised that Malia's eyes had begun to glow the sapphire-like crystal blue, and she looked panicked, sweat beading along her hairline and dripping down her chin.

 

She stood beside the wall, clutching onto herself, the scent of desperation filling Stiles' nose as he tightened her cuffs.

 

Malia said between breaths, sounding winded, "You can leave, Stiles."

 

"I'm not going to. It's okay, Lia. I'll probably be safer down here than upstairs with a bunch of partying freshmen and a pissed off Lydia."

 

She yanked the chains to test them out, and for a second Stiles was afraid the leather cuffs would rip into half and prove ineffective, but the cuffs held steady. Stiles gave Malia a tentative smile, and she smiled back at him. That was one of the things he'd adored about the werecoyote. Most of the time she was all anger and growls, but around Stiles she had seemed to soften. As if Stiles was her anchor, the one thing that grounded her securely as a human in the supernatural world.

 

And sometimes Stiles wondered if she was his anchor too. Everytime the nogitsune raked a hand down the cage in his mind, he'd throw Malia's smiles at them, her concerned expressions and her small remarks that made her seem odd amongst ordinary humans.

 

 

 

 

Lydia was irrevocably pissed, and the teenagers drinking out of her $400 wine and placing it on her $2000 laptop weren't doing much to help the situation.

 

It couldn't have gotten any worse.

 

At least, that was what Lydia thought, until a keg man showed up, hauling a large keg of beer into her office.

 

Lydia glared at him and said, "I definitely did _not_ order a large keg of beer."

 

"Somebody ordered it. Are you telling me nobody in here wants to drink?"

 

Lydia felt like she was going to scream until the windows shattered and the lightbulbs broke. She closed her fingers against each other, and snatched the wine off a freshman, who she recognised as Garrett.

 

"That's $400," She hissed.

 

Lydia spotted Mason venturing into the upper sections of the house. She hastily said, "I'll ho upstairs and get some money."

 

 

 

 

Malia growled, "Stiles, _leave_!"

 

Stiles stood in front of her, as close as he could without her being able to reach him. He said, "I'm not going to. Besides, I hate parties. It's a social anxiety thing."

 

"My urges are telling me to hurt you. To smash your face and feel your bones crack beneath my hands," Malia sobbed, thrashing wildly against the chains that bound her.

 

Stiles could see the tears brim up in her eyes, reflecting the pale moonlight that drifted in. There was a slim line of it cutting between them, as if it were a boundary they were forbidden to cross. But if the experience with the nogitsune taught him anything, it was that boundaries and rules were to be damned.

 

"I'm not going to let you hurt anyone."

 

Malia yanked again, and this time he heard the leather rip. She glanced at him, the bloodlust in her eyes so at odds with her downturned mouth.

 

"You're not going to have a choice."

 

 

 

 

Lydia followed the wandering freshman, Mason and said, "The party's downstairs."

 

"I'm looking for Liam."

 

"I'm sorry, but missing freshmen are a little low on my priority list."

 

"But not so low that you don't know he's a freshman?"

 

No, Lydia sort of assumed that because the whole stupid lake house was filled with freshmen. The room was white, reminding Lydia of Stiles' mind. It was an eerie resemblance, and she didn't know why Stiles came to her mind first.

 

Lydia spotted two glasses with red wine in them, and she grabbed them, guiding Mason out of the room hastily. Her hands lose the grip on the glasses, and for a second everything slowed down. It was like a time slip; you felt like it was all in your hands, yet they weren't fast enough to catch the maroon liquid from spilling across the carpet and staining it.

 

Lydia cried out loud and knelt, frantically scrubbing at the floors with her hands. She knew it wouldn't have come off, but she needed it to. She could feel warm tears slide down her cheeks, and her thoughts were all in a mess inside her head.

 

She said, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes, "The carpet isn't valuable—nothing in this house is. We put it on the market and it needs to be perfect so we can get as much money as possible from the sale."

 

Lydia looked up at Mason, who looked helpless. He said, "Oh...uh...It's going to be okay. I'll go grab some club salt and soda to help clean the wine from the carpet."

 

Mason rushed out of the room, leaving Lydia alone. She put a hand to her cheek, and mascara streaked down her face in ugly gray lines. She sighed, and when she stood up, the door swung shut.

 

Lydia jumped a little, but then she realised the room was deathly quiet, as if all sounds had been muted. She walked over to the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle, the metal surprisingly cold.

 

She opened and closed the door a few times experimentally and came to the conclusion that the room she was in was soundproof. But why? Lydia stood up unsteadily, her heels threatening to make her stumble and fall at any moment. She spotted a old record player, which surprisingly looked new. It was a dark red, a thin layer of dust coating the needle. She put the needle down, and almost immediately a scratching sound started to play.

 

But to Lydia's ears, they weren't scratching. They were whispers of old, bits of conversation with the voices of ancient, music of time, hymns of age. Slowly, the voices and music honed themselves into one, single, muffled word.

 

_All._

 

 _Alli_.

 

 

 

 

Stiles stood there helplessly, watching Malia pull at the chains until they were at the brink of tearing apart, and even though he felt nervous that she might hurt others, he wasn't scared about himself. Malia would never hurt him. Never.

 

Malia screamed, "Go, Stiles! Before I hurt you!"

 

Stiles walked over to her, closer and closer. She seemed to push herself against the wall, her breathing getting more anxious by the second. She glared at Stiles, and her claws slashed out. At one point, she did cut Stiles skin, and he took in a small, sharp breath. But it healed quickly enough.

 

Stiles said, "I don't think you're going to hurt me. And I think that maybe you're so afraid of hurting me because of what you did to your family. I know what that's like, Malia. I remember everything I did and the worst part is I remember liking it because I felt powerful. I felt fearless. And most of all in _control_. But when I came through it, I learned something else: control is _overrated_."

 

But it was necessary. He meant everything he'd said, but for himself, if he could've gotten away with it, Stiles would have locked himself in a coffin of mountain ash. He began to carefully unlock Malia's chains, avoiding her claws.

 

Stiles could almost see it—Malia gaining control over her shift, and the minute she pulled free, she shifted back. He could imagine it happening, and he let her go.

 

Malia instantly lunged for him, and he braved himself for the worst. But she had returned back to human. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and Stiles smiled in relief against her shoulders as he ran a hand down her back reassuringly.

 

"You did it."

 

 

 

Lydia stared at the wall with faces pressing against it for so long she didn't notice at first when the door clicked and Kira entered the room.

 

"What do you hear?" Kira asked.

 

"The key. The key to break the code," Lydia breathed. The voices whispering were identical to the ones in her head, murmuring in her ears all day long.

 

 _Alli_.

 

 _Allison_.

 

 _Allison_. _Allison_. _Allison_.

 

Lydia went downstairs to grab her computer and ran back upstairs, and Kira seemed wide-eyes with shock as she gazed at her. She opened her computer and typed in the word:

 

 ** _A_** **_L_** **_L_** **_I_** _**S**_ _**O**_   _ **N**_.

 

Instantly, the code began rearranging itself into words and letters. Lydia saw names appear, one by one, with numbers beside them.

 

"What is this?" Kira asked again, pointing at the screen.

 

"It's a list of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills. And we're all on it."

 

 

 ** _LYDIA_** **_MARTIN_** ** _20_**

 

 ** _SCOTT_** **_MCCALL_** ** _25_**

 

 ** _DEREK_** **_HALE_** ** _15_**

 

 ** _CARRIE_** **_HUDSON_** ** _500_**

 

 ** _KIRA_** **_YUKIMURA_** **_6_**

 

 ** _ELIAS_** **_TOWN_** ** _250_**


	7. seven

i Stiles grabbed his new crime board, made with glass rather than a blackboard. He wasn't particularly happy about his friends being on the supernatural hitlist, but at least he wasn't on it yet. He was terrified of what would happen if they found out. Stiles knew that they would've used wolf lichen on him again, or literally torture him to get him "out".

 

Stiles muttered to himself whilst pinning up pictures with red string and tape, "So the Walcotts were the first. At least the first that we know about. Four murders: Sean, his brother, and their parents. They were killed by a professional assassin called The Mute.

 

"Weapon of choice: a military tomahawk. But then The Mute was killed by Peter Hale after he tried to blow up Derek with a Claymore mine.

 

"Next was Demarco. He delivered a keg to the party at Lydia's lake house and he got decapitated outside his car. And then last night, twenty-three year old Carrie Hudson."

 

Stiles stepped back to frown at his board, now full with red strings. He put up the printed hitlist on the top of his board, and used a red marker to angrily cross out the dead supernaturals. All that was left now were Scott, Lydia, Kira, Kayleen Betcher and Elias Town.

 

He and Scott had gone to his father in the afternoon to show him the hitlist. They had told the sheriff that Lydia had accidentally found the first cipher key, and that they would need two other cipher keys to decipher the whole code. Allison's name was the first cipher key. They had told him that Lydia had been at the lake house for the whole weekend trying to figure out the second and third cipher key, but it wasn't working. Stiles' father had asked if they meant Beacon County or Beacon Hills, because Beacon Hills' population was under thirty thousand but Beacon County's would be over five hundred thousand. His father couldn't risk the next cipher key bringing up not just twelve names, but a hundred.

 

They had told the sheriff that there was a limit to the names, and that all the numbers would eventually add up to 117 million. Scott, Lydia, and Kira's were in millions while Kayleen and Elias' were in thousands. He scribbled down as much information as he could.

 

 

 

Scott walked into the gym to see an angry Liam, who was being held up against the wal by Derek.

 

"Liam," Scott said.

 

Almost like his words had a calming effect on Liam, the boy stopped struggling and Derek let him go. Scott gave him back his lacrosse stick, still in one piece. They would just have to deal with the other person's broken equipment later.

 

Derek mused, "You're right. He is angry."

 

The school bell rang shrilly, and Scott told Liam to get to class. The freshman stomped off sulkily, and he was left alone with a Derek who was smiling like a proud dad. It unnerved Scott more than he would admit. Derek never smiled.

 

"You're going to be good at this," Derek remarked.

 

"Yeah? I don't think so. I feel completely unprepared and I feel like I need a training manual," Scott admitted sheepishly.

 

"I'll tell you one thing, though. That anger of his is going to make him strong."

 

"And dangerous."

 

"Very."

 

Scott felt mildly upset, but it wasn't Liam's fault. Most of the time it was his own fault.  Scott is upset. He had wanted to focus on school that semester but everything was spiralling out of control again. Derek was still being weirdly supportive.

 

Derek said, "If your names are on the deadpool, maybe that's where you should start. See who knew about all the supernaturals."

 

 

 

Coach was talking about economics disparity and some preachy things in class, but Stiles' thoughts kept straying back to the bodies that they'd found. He pulled out the photos and started studying them, frowning at the wounds. Coach walked forward and groaned.

 

"Stilinski, if I could grade you on how profoundly you disturb me, you'd be an A-plus student."

 

He pointed the lacrosse stick at Stiles, and before Coach could walk away and continue with class, he realised something. Stiles grabbed onto the stick with one hand while the other flipped through the photos. He could feel Coach trying to yank it back, but apparently Stiles was way stronger than he thought he was, or Coach just didn't work out at all.

 

When Coach finally yanked his stick back and muttered how crazy Stiles was, Stiles leaned back in his seat and confirmed that the stab wounds had the imprint of a lacrosse stick. The killer was on the lacrosse team.

 

 

 

Stiles, Scott and Kira checked the back of every lacrosse stick for a hidden knife. They couldn't find any.

 

Scott said, "Most of the team brings their own lacrosse sticks."

 

Kira said, "I think instead of trying to find the killer, we should try get the game cancelled."

 

"The game is the best way to catch him red-handed."

 

Stiles couldn't handle it anymore. He pointed out, "But what if he's red-handed because his hands are covered in the blood of the person he just stabbed to death? Which, by the way, could be either of you guys."

 

Stiles sighed, the dreaded sinking feeling in his stomach leaving him feeling nauseous and sick. Stiles didn't know about the rest of them, but he was pretty sure none of them could hold up against professional assassins and killers.

 

Scott and Kira both said they weren't scared of playing that night. Stiles found them horrifically stupid.

 

Stiles said, "Well, I'm terrified, and I'm not even on the list! Guys, these are professional killers. It's their profession. One of them's got a thermo-cut wire that cuts heads off. Who knows what else they have?"

 

 

 

 

Garrett and Violet stood on the chemistry lab, the former sticking out the blade hidden in his lacrosse stick as Violet took out the yellow wolfsbane.

 

"This is very rare and very expensive, so _don't_ _miss_. All you have to do is nick the werewolf. It'll work fast even on an Alpha."

 

Garrett scoffed at her worry and said, "I won't."

 

Violet sulked as she poured the wolfsbane steadily into the metal blade, watching the amber liquid slide down the edges.

 

Violet pointed out, "I'm just saying, I don't know why we're going after a Beta when there's an Alpha and a fox on the field."

 

"Because an entire Alpha pack went after McCall once, and he was the one left standing. With the fox, we don't even know if he still is one."

 

"We can't just lace the our blades with mountain ash?"

 

"Be patient, Vi. The Beta is also worth a lot of money. Besides, we'll go after them soon enough."

 

Violet wasn't satisfied. Silently, she came up with a plan to get the ten million the fox was worth, and it was going to work. It had to.

 

 

 

 

Stiles skidded outside to see Liam fuming with rage, his whole body shaking with anger, blood dripping down his clenched fists as he glared at a Devonford Prep student. He saw Scott hastily drag Liam away and he walked forward to give them a welcome speech, one he hated and would forever be seared into his memory. He never liked the kids of Devonford Prep. Once, he'd looked at the school, and even the freshmen smirked at him condescendingly.

 

Stiles and Scott hauled Liam's ass into the boys' locker room's showers, and pushed him under one, the scent of anger coming off of Liam in waves. He finally stopped roaring, and Scott decided it was a good time to call Liam out on his lie.

 

Stiles didn't.

 

Liam told them that he literally slammed a crowbar into a teacher's car. Repeatedly. The teacher also happened to be Liam's coach, who benched him for a whole season after Liam got one too many red cards. After Liam was expelled, he was sent to a psychologist for evaluation.

 

Scott asked, "What did they call it?"

 

"Intermittent Explosive Disorder."

 

Stiles gaped at Liam. And then at Scott. He couldn't believe his ears. "I.E.D? You're literally an I.E.D? That's great. That's great. You literally gave your powers to a walking time bomb," Stiles scoffed.

 

He gave Scott a mocking thumbs up, the water spraying his hair and clothes making his attire messy, and gave Scott a look. Stiles really needed Scott to rethink his life, his choices, and his life choices.

 

"Do you take medication for it?"

 

"The psychologist gave me some antipsychotic medication, but it makes me too tired for the game, so I don't take it."

 

Stiles snorted. "Obviously."

 

"I don't think you should play. Maybe you should sit out and tell Coach your leg is still sore?" Scott suggested.

 

Liam's eyes instantly flared wide open in panic, his previous slouched form over now straightening in panic. "No, no I can do this, especially if you're there!"

 

Stiles thought that was adorable. But it was still irrelevant as Scott filled in Liam how Demarco's killer could be on the lacrosse team. Stiles told Liam who Demarco was, and he said, "I don't know who ordered the keg, but I do know who paid for it."

 

 _Garrett_.

 

 

 

Stiles dialed his father's number, asking him why he wasn't at the game yet. It was the first he'd actually be playing front line, and he wanted his father to watch. He never really got any praise from anyone growing up, and the daunting prospect that his father wouldn't be there to see his first, good game, was enough to put a damper on his good spirits.

 

Stiles used his hearing to overhear Kira being worried about someone trying to kill them, Mason being extremely Mason, and unnervingly like Danny, and Liam being pissed off as usual.

 

The game was about to begin. It was just a matter of time before Garrett unsheathed his weapon and stabbed someone.

 

 

 

 

 

Lydia turned up at the station. She'd received a call from the sheriff saying that Meredith was looking for her, and as she crouched opposite of the odd Eichen House patient, the sheriff closed the door. Deputy Parrish, Malia, Sheriff Stilinski, Meredith. Those were the people in the room, and Lydia kept reminding herself that in case she spoke of anything supernatural.

 

Lydia handed the phone to Meredith. Meredith stared at it blankly, her face the portrait of innocence, yet it was deadly innocence. The kind that if you stared back for too long, the look could strangle you.

 

Lydia said, "Aren't you going to answer the phone, Meredith?"

 

"It's not ringing."

 

 

 

 

Stiles looked at a Devonford Prep student, his body high on adrenaline. He asked, "What steroids are you on? You have an unusual amount of facial hair for a teenager."

 

Said Devonford Prep student glared at him, but he was distracted enough that Stiles sidestepped him and threw the ball to Kira, who seemed to gape at his sudden show of skills.

 

Anyway, Kira shot despite Coach's protests and yelling for her to pass, and she scored.

 

Coach benched her. She appeared to shocked, and all Stiles could do was offer her a apologetic glance. There was really no reasoning with their coach.

 

 

 

 

Parrish stepped in, and Lydia was grateful for the break from Meredith's look at her, as if she were someone stupid and not one with GPAs of 4.00.

 

The deputy asked, "When you need help—when you need to find something, is there someone you reach out to? Maybe someone you call?"

 

"It depends. Different people for different things."

 

"So maybe there's a number we can call? Someone to help us?"

 

"2...4...3...6."

 

Lydia actually stared this time. She said, not believing her ears, "Meredith, a phone number has eight digits. That's nowhere near the length for it."

 

Malia dragged her away, her yelling enough to panic Meredith. The slightly off-the-hook Eichen House patient close to bursting into tears.

 

Lydia pulled out her laptop and groaned at it. Malia said, "What if it's like algebra?"

 

Malia turned the classic phone around, the one with numbers below letters, and Lydia gasped. She began to scrawl the letters down, and to her dismay, it spelled out a name. A name she wished to forget, and did, the pain almost unbearable in her first few days of loss.

 

 _Aiden_.

 

She typed it in, and the decoding began.

 

 ** _KATE_** **_ARGENT_** ** _12_**

 

 ** _NOSHIKO_** **_YUKIMURA_** ** _5_**

 

 ** _M_**. " ** _STILES_** " **_STILINSKI_** **_10_**

 

 ** _TOM_** **_HILL_** ** _1_**

 

 ** _BRETT_** **_TALBOT_** ** _1_**

 

 ** _CHERYL_** **_CALIX_** ** _250_**

 

 ** _JORDAN_** **_PARRISH      5_**

 

Lydia felt the colour draining from her face, and as Malia studied the list further, she said, "I'm going to text Scott the deadpool."

 

 

 

Scott received a text from Lydia with pictures attached. Liam, who had been sitting out of the game, worried after they saw the glint of Garrett's shiv.

 

"Am I on it?" Liam asked, his expression deathly worried.

 

Scott felt his heart sinking in his chest, and the dread that washed over him was enough to send him into a sprint across the field as he said, "No, but someone else is."

 

He began to flat out run across the whole field, ignoring the protests of Coach, and to where his best friend and Brett had disappeared: the locker rooms.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles walked into the locker room, sweaty and wary, to find Brett on the floor. He seemed to be poisoned. Stiles put two and two together, and he groaned.

 

"You're the werewolf they're hunting for, aren't you?"

 

Brett's glazed over eyes seemed to widen as he stared at something behind him, and the nogitsune seemed to speak inside him.

 

 _Duck_.

 

His voice was a raging rumble, like a stroke of thunder in a storm, and Stiles had learnt not to doubt the nogitsune. As much of a trickster it was, they'd learnt that if Stiles died, so did the nogitsune. And so Stiles crouched, and he saw the thermo-cut wire come within an inch of his throat. Stiles turned to see Violet, holding the garrotte in her hands, her eyes with the promise of murder as he backed away.

 

"What the hell?" Stiles said. The girl advanced, step after step, and he could hear Brett's laboured breathing behind him as he stood rooted to the ground.

 

She slashed out with a blade, and he grabbed the steel, ignoring the blood that welled and dropped from his fingers. He had no doubt his eyes were glowing at that moment as Stiles slammed a then fearful Violet into the wall, rendering her unconscious.

 

He hissed at his hand, which he turned around. The blood was already clotting, the skin knitting itself together. Stiles looked at Brett and helped him up, the boy wincing in pain.

 

He muttered, "Why was she even trying to kill me?"

 

He watched Scott speed into the room, look at the unconscious Violet, the injured Brett, the blood on the floor, and say, "Because Brett's worth a million, and you're worth ten."


	8. eight

Scott's mind was still spinning from the realisation that his best friend was on a deadpool for supernatural creatures. Stiles wasn't supernatural. He was as human as human could get. He wasn't affected by mountain ash or wolfsbane, he used a freaking baseball bat as his weapon. The only logical explanation would be that Stiles had been possessed by a nogitsune before.

 

Stiles appeared to look the exact same—bewildered and terrified. They were sitting in Scott's bedroom, and after searching Garrett's locker the day before, they found a bag full of money. After they had poured it all out, they found a tape.

 

They inserted it into a tape player and a voice filtered out of it. It sounded human enough, but the cold and menacing tone of it was enough to send bouts of ice down Scott's spine.

 

It said, "After entering the IP address, you will be connected through a dark net portal to an untraceable bank. Once logged in, enter your account number to receive wire transfers. The IP address will deactivate will each transfer. You will be assigned a new IP address if you choose to continue down the list. Remember: visual confirmation is always required for payment."

 

Stiles looked at Scott and asked, "Do you know about wire transfers?"

 

"No, they were a really old way of transferring money."

 

"So we both understood none of that?"

 

Scott was confused. He didn't understand anything. Not just the wire transfers, not the dark net portals, but the fact that someone would've wasted so much money just to kill them didn't add up. He said as much.

 

"Someone wants you dead, dude. Badly," Stiles said.

 

Stiles seemed worried over the fact that he was on the list. Scott could smell the scent of despair and anxiety on him, the former new and the latter worn. Probably because Violet, one of the Orphans had tried to kill him. Scott felt the urge to protect his best friend, even if Stiles came out unscathed other than the darkness that seemed to haunt his eyes.

 

Scott started to put the money piles back in the sports bag. They had PSATS the next day, and he wanted a good night's sleep, if nothing else could be had.

 

Scott said he wanted to give the money back, and Stiles had stared at him.

 

"You want to give $500,000 back to Peter? Really?"

 

Before they could really dwell on the topic and consider what to do with the heaping amount of money, Scott heard footsteps. They hastily shoved the bag underneath the bed and shot up, standing beside each other awkwardly.

 

Malia opened the bedroom door, and said, "We found Satomi's pack."

 

Her hair was damp from the rain, soaked to the edges. Stiles said, "And?"

 

"They were all dead. Poisoned."

 

 

 

 

Stiles fidgeted while they were waiting in line to take the PSATs. Malia asked, "Where's Lydia?"

 

"She took it her freshman year."

 

"Does this mean I could've taken it some other time?" Malia was shifting around uneasily, the panic in her features easy to see. Stiles sighed. He hated PSATs. Even though a lot of people claimed that he was smart, ever since he was young, PSATs weren't the things your intelligence could help on.

 

Scott reassured her, saying, "Malia, you've studied harder for this than any of us."

 

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna do good."

 

Stiles cleared his throat and said sheepishly, "Well."

 

Malia glared at him. "Well, what?"

 

"It's do well, not do good," He said.

 

"Oh, god!"

 

Stiles put both hands on Malia's shoulders and glanced at her apologetically, her heart hammering in her chest.

 

Scott said, "You're doing this because while we're trying not to die, we still need to live. If I survive high school, I'd like to go to college. A good college."

 

"It's only three hours. We can survive three hours," Kira added helpfully.

 

Words like that always jinxed people, but Stiles tried not to dwell on it too much as they walked into the examination room, each of them sticking their thumb into the ink pad and stamping their print on the paper.

 

Stiles put his phone in the paper bags, and Mrs Martin took them, placing them down gently. The three pencils that were tight in his grasp was slick with sweat. He settled in his sweet, and as Stiles tapped his feet around restlessly, not liking being still for long periods of time.

 

The other male teacher said, "Mrs Martin, there are supposed to be two people monitoring this exam. Isn't Coach supposed to be here?"

 

"I'll go get him."

 

After a few minutes of waiting, Stiles now transferring the pencils from one hand to another, she returned and said she couldn't find Coach. That was odd, seeing as Coach would only be in his office or out on the fields. Ms Martin offered to find Mr Yukimura, who was upstairs grading papers.

 

The teacher only shook his head and said that they had to start the examination then. Stiles could feel his heartbeat thumping wildly in his chest as the PSATs officially started.

 

There was a pencil in his mouth, and one in each of his hands. Stiles was ambidextrous. Not many people knew that, but his writing was almost identical with both hands.

 

Stiles read the next question, and his mouth opened, the pencil falling. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to answer fifteen questions at the same time.

 

Suddenly, a thud sounded. Everyone simultaneously turned and Stiles saw that a girl had collapsed sideways out of her seat. Mrs Martin immediately helped her up, and she claimed that she was "just dizzy".

 

Mrs Martin paled almost instantly after she saw a rash developing on the girl's wrist, angry and red blisters spotting her wrist like a bracelet.

 

The teacher asked, "Should I stop the test?"

 

Mrs Martin, flustered, said, "Oh, oh no, it's fine. Everyone stay in your seats—I'll be back in a minute." She exited the classroom hastily, and Stiles heard her call the CDC.

 

Dread grabbed the feelings in his stomach and threw them all out, leaving only space for the one thing that came to his mind.

 

 _An_ _outbreak_.

 

The students file out onto the hallway to see what happened. The remaining teacher didn't bother to stop them, he seemed to be more concerned about something else. The test hadn't officially been stopped yet, and Mrs Martin yelled at them to get back and they all shrunk back quickly. She shut the door behind them.

 

CDC agents entered the school, and Stiles watched beside Mrs Martin and Scott, the former with a grim expression on her face, her eyes worried. Scott and Stiles split up. Scott went to see the tents they'd set up in the cafeteria, and Stiles went back to fill Kira and Malia in.

 

They sat on a table, and Stiles said, "I heard one of the agents say it was smallpox."

 

The teacher spoke from behind him, scaring the living creatures out of him, "It's unlikely. Smallpox was eradicated worldwide in 1979. You should be comforted by that, unless it's something worse." Stiles heard cop cars, and his father's voice outside.

 

Malia said, "Seems like they're taking it pretty seriously."

 

Kira just looked worried. Stiles leafed through the paper bags for his phone, but the teacher said, "Don't bother. They would've shut off any access to all outside communication by now. No cell service, no Wi-Fi, no starting a panic. Looks like we're all just going to have to wait here and see what happens."

 

 

 

 

 

Instead of just calling Stiles, Mr Yukimura called them all over. Stiles watched grimly, the atmosphere tense as Scott's eyes kept glowing red and Malia's claws weren't retractable anymore, out of her control.

 

They were discussing places to keep Scott and Malia. The locker rooms were out of question; they might get violent, like on a full moon. Classrooms were the same, and basements had too many exits.

 

"What about the Hale vault?" Stiles suggested.

 

Scott seemed to consider and said, "There has to be another way in."

 

Mr Yukimura said, "Everyone's getting sick. You have to find the vault entrance soon."

 

"I feel fine," Kira pointed out.

 

So did Stiles. But Mr Yukimura grabbed her papers and said, "I think it's affecting you neurologically."

 

Her answer sheet's bubbles weren't filled in, and where she shaded was beside the ovals. The look that Mr Yukimura gave Stiles made his heart sink to his feet. He knew.

 

 

 

They sped down the stairs into the basement, and Stiles almost found it instantly. They shoved aside the shelves lining the walls and found an obvious triskele carved into the wall.

 

There was a metal grate, and the slots were big enough to allow claws to slot themselves in, but small enough that anyone's fingers couldn't.

 

Stiles said, "It should open with anyone's claws."

 

Scott gave him a look, and they both knew that only a Hale's claws could. But Malia didn't need to know that. She couldn't, not yet. Stiles knew that if she did, he would lose Malia. There would be a gaping hole in her heart that could never be filled.

 

"Malia, how about you try?" Scott said.

 

"Why me?"

 

"I don't have control," Scott said. True enough, when he lifted a hand, the claws didn't show.

 

Stiles held his breath as Malia sighed and said, "I'll do it. But only when you tell me what you've been hiding from me."

 

After a moment of silence that teetered in the air, anxiety clawing onto Stiles' stomach, she said, "I know I'm on the list."

 

Stiles gaped at Scott, momentarily shocked. "Y...es, you are," He said.

 

"How much?"

 

"How much what?"

 

"How much am I worth?" Malia asked, her claws glinting in the flickering amber lights that hung from the ceiling, casting a dark shadow.

 

"Four million."

 

The girl seemed to stare at thin air for a while before Stiles asked, "Are you okay?"

 

Malia blinked, and her expression shut down, as if it had been wiped clean with a cloth. "Yeah, Scott's worth twenty five, you're worth ten, Kira's worth six, they'll take you guys out way before me."

 

With that, she inserted her claws and turned the steel grate, and the door opened to the eerie vault.

 

Scott sat in a corner, burying his head in his hands as Kira paced around. Stiles opted for sliding down against a pillar, and Malia curled up against him, using his legs as a pillow. He cradled the werecoyote against his body, savouring the ephemerally peaceful moment they had.

 

When Stiles looked up, Kira was holding a jar of what looked like shrivelled mushrooms. She said, "How do you even change bearer bonds into cash?"

 

"A bank, I guess. They just let it sit here this whole time, collecting dust."

 

Stiles sighed, and he ran a thumb through Malia's hair, which was damp with sweat. The girl wasn't looking good. In fact, they'd all worsened, Stiles finding the taste of blood in his mouth. He'd wiped away any trace of it visibly, though.

 

He continued, "Do you know that bearer bonds are basically extinct? That money could've solved a lot of problems for us. The MRI bills and night in Eichen House is crushing him."

 

He'd felt utterly and helplessly guilty and hopeless. Every time they chased, every time the sheriff asked for more time. Stiles had wanted to scream his lungs out. They could've used all those money to pay it back, and then some. The amount of burden riding on his dad's shoulders was enough to make his eyes burn.

 

"My mom does this thing where she makes a list of all the items in our budget, and how long it'll last us."

 

"Until?" Kira asked.

 

"Until we lose the house," Scott said quietly.

 

 

 

Stiles and Scott leaned against the wall, and Stiles wasn't feeling so good himself. Even though the nogitsune's prying voice inside his head had told him that because they—the fox fed off pain, they would have more time. But it didn't mean that Stiles trusted himself to last any longer as Scott whispered, "We need to tell her the truth about Peter. She's going to see the rest of the dead pool eventually."

 

"Try to remember that Peter's the one name missing on that list, which either makes him incredibly lucky or the Benefactor. If she finds out about him, she's going to go to him; you know she is. And then he's going to twist his way into her head like he does with everyone, including us. We let him walk around like nothing ever happened, like he's one of the good guys. Scott, he's not one of the good guys. If she finds out about it, she's gone. That's probably what he's waiting for. And then he wins, we lose," Stiles whispered back harshly. He cast a look at Kira and Malia huddling in a corner, the former looking okay but the latter deathly pale, with blood crusting her lips and the same staining her fingernails.

 

Scott said, "I can hear people looking for us. One of us has to go out there."

 

"I'll go."

 

Stiles walked over to Malia who was crouched over herself, and she closed her eyes.

 

"Malia? I have to leave for a bit. If this is getting worse for you guys, it means it's another assassin."

 

Malia held out an arm, and Stiles grazed it as she gave him a wobbly smile. "You're coming back, right?"

 

Her arm was ice to the touch, and he had no doubt the girl wasn't feeling cold. Stiles gave her his jacket.

 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd never leave you behind."

 

Stiles leaned in and kissed Malia on the forehead, the only goodbye he'd let himself walk away from as their arms, the only link between them besides the bonding of their souls tore apart.

 

He felt, more than heard, Malia curling up on the floor again, tears leaking from her eyes.

 

 

 

Stiles, in a mad rush, sorted through all of Coach's things. Why was he the only adult that got infected? Stiles felt his thought process speeding by, and his mind racing to catch up as he flipped through the papers. Suddenly, he noticed Coach's mug had dark fingerprint marks on them.

 

Stiles thumbed through the pages. It was red ink, stamped by Coach, until it faded and returned as the dark ink. Stiles remembered that the male teacher was the one who brought in the notepad.

 

"I was wondering how that idiot got sick. I'm also wondering where your friends are since, in order to get paid by the Benefactor, I need to have proof that they're dead. But since you yourself are worth ten million..." The voice drawled from the hallway, and it shocked Stiles enough that the mug slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. The teacher smirked at him, the malice in his expression now revealed.

 

"Visual confirmation," He croaked out.

 

"Exactly."

 

The teacher, or assassin, pointed a gun at Stiles. He shoved Stiles into the locker room.

 

"Tell me where your friends are, and maybe I'll let you live. Shouldn't one of you get to live?"

 

"I'm worth ten million. You'd never let me live. But I might've seen them in the library. Or the cafeteria. It was definitely one of those two."

 

The teacher seemed fed up with his crap. But Stiles' vision had started swimming, and with the pain that racked his brain, and the while that overtook his vision when he blinked, Stiles knew the worst part was coming.

 

"I'm gonna count to three. Then I'm going to kill you."

 

"Think you can scare me?" The words were meant to come out strong, but it was a rasp, lost in the fear that he'd never be able to tell Malia he loved her.

 

"No, I think I can kill you. I just thought the countdown would make it more exciting."

 

The cool, flat metal end of the gun pressed to Stiles' forehead, and he closed his eyes, hearing his heartbeat hammer at that moment. Even the nogitsune knew that they were doomed, and his breath trembled as the teacher began to count, his voice laced with a cruel glee that Stiles couldn't even begin to imagine could destroy the world. His mind screamed at him, saying that he couldn’t die, he _wouldn’t_ , and Stiles felt a tear slip down his face. 

 

And then the bang sounded, and for a sickening moment, Stiles thought that death felt like nothing, and that he still felt the same—tired to the core, lethargic, cold as ice. And then he registered the blood on his face. Stiles opened his eyes to see Agent McCall in a hazmat suit, and Scott's father said, "Listen, Stiles. I got a call from Melissa, and I don't know what it means, but it's in the vault. Reishi mushrooms. In a jar on one of the shelves."

 

Stiles raced back to the vault, his legs feeling like weak twigs as his body continued to fail him, limb by limb.

 

 

 

"Scott, you hear me? Reishi mushrooms! In one of the jars on the shelves. Scott? Scott!"

 

Stiles slammed a hand repeatedly on the wall, his vision now just blinding white. It would be soon before his vision gave out. That was his first distracted thought after his legs gave out beneath him, and he toppled to the ground, his body leaning beside the vault's entrance.

 

A tear escaped from his eye, but that was all Stiles was able to feel before oblivion rushed in to embrace him within its oddly comforting state, and he closed his eyes, folding himself within the darkness.

 

 

 

Scott heard Kira say, "Scott, I saw it! It's on one of the shelves!"

 

And even though his body screamed at him to sit down, invisible hands dragging his spine downwards, he used his eyes, the infrared allowing him to see the luminescent reishi mushrooms. He staggered over, crawling and knocking over shelves.

 

Finally, he reached the shelf. His fingertips brushed against the shelves, and Scott swung them back and forth desperately. The jar clattered to the floor and shattered, the glowing dust from the reishi mushrooms inoculating the poison.

 

He could finally see again. And Malia stared at the list, her emotionless face now warping onto one of betrayal as she regained control over her shift and opened the vault entrance.

 

Stiles was lying beside the entrance, unbelievably peaceful with his mouth slightly open. Scott thought he was sleeping.

 

Despite Malia's face, as Scott helped Kira up, Malia tried waking Stiles up. "Stiles. Stiles!"

 

She shook his shoulders to no avail, and when Scott and Kira stumbled over, Malia had the look of utter terror on her face. Stiles had looked like he was sleeping from far away, but near, he looked horrible.

 

His face was deathly pale and his lips were almost the same shade. The edges of his lips were crusted with a dark blood, and his face looked hollowed out.

 

Panic rose in Scott as he looked back in the vault for the mushrooms, but it seemed that they had disappeared, or faded from existence. There was no trace of the reishi mushrooms left.

 

Malia seemed horrified, and any trace of her hurt dissipated into concern for Stiles as she hauled him into the vault and closed the door again.

 

Scott shook his best friend, trying to wake him up. "Stiles, come on man," He said, putting both hands on Stiles' shoulders.

 

The door slid open, and Derek and Lydia were there. Scott stood up, his mouth agape. Derek said, "What happened? Why is he still like this? The humans are all recovering,"

 

"Some haven't. Some are getting worse," Lydia said, her voice a horrified rasp. "Is there another way out without anyone noticing us, Derek?"

 

"There's another exit, but it leads directly to the front of the school sign."

 

Malia had already scooped Stiles up in her arms. She said, "Let's go, then. We'll take Stiles' car."

 

"You can't. It's right where the crowd is. You have to take mine."

 

Malia stood up, and Scott felt the anxiety in the whole room as Stiles' head slanted against his own body as she said, "Fine. But he's not breathing, and soon his heartbeat is going to stop. Let's go."

 

The room was tense, and Scott laced his fingers through Kira's as they watched Malia, her eyes glistening yet her mouth pressed into a thin line, held Stiles close to her.


End file.
